' 

~ 

ROMEO  AND  JULIET, 


A TRAGEDY  IN  FIVE  ACTS, 


I -;r 


-V" 


WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE, 

(A  yranged  for  representation  from  the  text  o*  the  second  quarto , printed 

a.d.  1599,) 

AS  PERFORMED  BY 

Miss  MARY  ANDERSON 

AND  COMPANY 


THE  LYCEUM  THEATRE. 

UNDER  THE  MANAGEMENT  OF 

Mr.  HENRY  E.  ABBEY, 

NOVEMBER,  1884. 


Return  this  book  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 


University  of  Illinois  Library 


2 .')  1980 

0cr  9 issg 


m 27 

mar 

OCT 


1975 

1 1979 

9 1980 


L161 — H41 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


,««* 

vOMEO  AND  JULIET, 

A TRAGEDY  IN  FIVE  ACTS, 

BY 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE, 

A /ranged  for  representation  from  the  text  of  the  second  qiiavto,  printed 

A.D.  I599,) 

AS  PERFORMED  BY 

Miss  MARY  ANDERSON 

AND  COMPANY 
AT 

THE  LYCEUM  THEATRE, 

UNDER  THE  MANAGEMENT  OF 

Mr.  HENRY  E.  ABBEY, 

NOVEMBER,  1884. 


ICottirmt : 

S.  JOHNSON,  “ NASSAU  STEAM  PRESS,”  60,  ST.  MARTIN’S  LANE, 
CHARING  CROSS,  W.C. 


1884. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/romeojuliettrageOOshak 


m 3 3 

333  a-yx-' 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Escalus,  Prince  of  Verona 
Paris,  a young  noble,  kinsman  to 

the  Prince  

_ _ ( heads  of  two  houses  \ 

ontague,  J at  variance  with  L 

Capulet’  1 each  other  J 

An  Old  Man,  cousin  to  Capulet 

Romeo,  son  to  Montague 

Mercutio,  kinsman  to  the  Prince, 

and  friend  to  Romeo 

Benvolio,  nephew  to  Montague, 

and  friend  of  Romeo 

Tybalt,  nephew  to  Lady  Capulet 

Friar  Laurence,  a Franciscan 

Monk  

Friar  John,  of  the  same  order  ... 

Balthazar,  servant  to  Romeo  ... 

Sampson,  ) , , ~ , , f 

_ \ servants  to  Capulet  \ 

Gregory,  1 ( 

Abram,  servant  to  Montague 

Peter,  page  to  Capulet  

An  Apothecary  

Page  to  Paris 


Mr.  Harwood. 

Mr.  E.  Maurice. 

Mr.  De-Cordova. 

Mr.  Warde. 

Mr.  Drayton. 

Mr.  W.  Terriss. 

Mr.  Herbert  Standing. 

Mr.  A.  Lewis. 

Mr.  J.  Anderson. 

Mr.  Arthur  Stirling. 
Mr.  Russell. 

Mr.  K.  Black. 

Mr.  Murray. 

Mr.  Lewis  Gillespie. 
Mr.  Millward. 

Mr.  H.  Kemble. 

Mr.  Ben  Greet. 

Master  Black. 


Nobles , Musicians,  Retainers,  Citizens,  Soldiers , Monks,  Peasants, 
Mourners,  Guests,  Masquers,  Serenaders,  Fruit-sellers,  Pages  to 
Capulet , Pages  to  Montague,  Pages  to  Juliet,  Page  to  Mercutio. 


Lady  Montague 
Lady  Capulet 
Nurse  to  Juliet 


Miss  O’Reilly. 

Mrs.  Charles  Calvert. 
Mrs.  Stirling. 


Juliet 


and 


Miss  Mary  Anderson. 


m m m in  in  in  in  in  in  in  in  m in  m m m in  m in  in  cn 


SYNOPSIS  OF  SCENERY. 


ACT  I. 

:ene  1. — Piazza  dell’  Erbe,  Verona 

O'Connor. 

gene  2. — A Room  in  Capulet’s  House 

Hall. 

gene  3. — A Street  

O'Connor. 

cene  4. — A Hall  in  Capulet’s  House 

Hawes  Craven. 

ACT  II. 

cene  i. — A Street  

O'Connor. 

cene  2. — Capulet’s  Garden  

O'Connor. 

ACT  III. 

cene  1. — The  Monastery  

Hawes  Craven. 

jCENE  2. — A Grove  without  Verona 

Hawes  Craven. 

!cene  3. — A Nook  in  Capulet’s  Garden  ... 

Hawes  Craven. 

cene  4. — A Chapel  connected  with  the 

Monastery  

Hawes  Craven. 

ACT  IV. 

cene  i. — Piazza  Dante,  at  Verona 

O'Connor. 

cene  2. — A Room  in  Capulet’s  House 

Hall. 

cene  3. — Friar  Laurence’s  Cell 

Bruce  Smith. 

.cene  4. — Balcony  and  Interior  of  Juliet’s 

Chamber 

Bruce  Smith. 

cene  5. — Interior  of  Juliet’s  Chamber 

Bruce  Smith. 

cene  6. — Friar  Laurence’s  Cell  

Bruce  Smith. 

cene  7. — Juliet’s  Chamber 

Bruce  Smith. 

ACT  V. 

cene  i. — Piazza  dell’ Erbe,  Verona 

O'Connor. 

cene  2. — A Street  in  Mantua  

Perkins. 

cene  3. — The  Monastery  ... 

Hawes  Craven. 

cene  4. — A Churchyard  without  Verona 

O'Connor. 

(•  The  action  takes  place  in  Verona,  or  its  immediate  vicinity, 
with  the  exception  of  Scene  2,  Act  V.) 


The  Play  is  produced  under  the  Direction  of  the  Hon.  Lewis  Wingfield. 


1 1 Mi  • 

W-ii  ! M -ji!!  "j 


. 


I 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  i.  Market  Place.  Verona. 

Enter  Sampson  and  Gregory,  armed  with  swords  and 
bucklers. 


Sampson. 

REGORY,  o’  my  word,  we’ll  not  carry 
coals. 

Gre.  No,  for  then  we  should  be  colliers. 
Sam.  I mean,  an  we  be  in  choler,  we’ll 


draw. 

Gre.  Aye,  while  you  live,  draw  your  neck  out  of 
the  collar. 

Sam.  I strike  quickly,  being  moved. 

Gre.  But  thou  art  not  quickly  moved  to  strike. 

Sam.  A dog  of  the  house  of  Montague  moves  me. 

Gre.  To  move,  is — to  stir;  and  to  be  valiant,  is 
— to  stand  it : therefore,  if  thou  art  moved,  thou 
run’st  away. 

Sam.  A dog  of  that  house  shall  move  me  to  stand. 

Gre.  ’Tis  well.  Draw ; here  comes  two  of  the 
house  of  the  Montagues. 


Enter  Abram  and  Balthazar. 

Sam.  Let  us  take  the  law  of  our  sides ; let  them 
begin. 

Gre.  I will  frown  as  I pass  by  ; and  let  them  take 
it  as  they  list. 

Sam.  Nay,  as  they  dare.  I will  bite  my  thumb  at 
them  ; which  is  a disgrace  to  them,  if  they  bear  it. 


10 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Abr.  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir  ? 

Sam.  I do  bite  my  thumb,  sir. 

Abr.  Do  you  bite  your  thumb  at  us,  sir  ? 

Sam.  Is  the  law  on  our  side  if  I say — ay  ? 

Gre.  No. 

Sam.  No,  sir,  I do  not  bite  my  thumb  at  you,  sir ; 
but  I bite  my  thumb,  sir. 

Gre.  Do  you  quarrel,  sir  ? 

Abr.  Quarrel,  sir?  no,  sir. 

Sam.  If  you  do,  sir,  I am  for  you  ; I serve  as  good 
a man  as  you. 

Abr.  No  better. 

Sam.  Well,  sir. 

Enter  Benvolio  and  Nobles,  at  a distance. 

Gre.  Say — better ; here  come  onf1  of  my  master’s 
kinsmen. 

Sam.  Yes,  better,  sir. 

Abr.  You  lie. 

Sam.  Draw,  if  you  be  men. — Gregory,  remember 
thy  swashing  blow.  [They  fight. 

Ben.  Part,  fools : put  up  your  swords ; you  know 
not  what  you  do.  [Beats  down  their  swords. 

Enter  Tybalt  and  Nobles. 

Tyb.  What,  art  thou  drawn  among  these  heartless 
hinds  ? 

Turn  thee,  Benvolio,  look  upon  thy  death. 

Ben.  I do  but  keep  the  peace ; put  up  thy  sword, 
Or  manage  it  to  part  these  men  with  me. 

Tyb.  What,  drawn  and  talk  of  peace  ? I hate  the 
word 

As  I hate  hell,  all  Montagues,  and  thee  : 

Have  at  thee,  coward.  [They  fight. 

Enter  Partizans  of  both  Houses , who  join  the  fray ; then 
enter  Citizens,  with  clubs. 

Cits.  Down  with  the  Capulets ! Down  with  the 
Montagues  ! 


ACT  I.  SCENE  /. 


ii 


Enter  Capulet  and  Lady  Capulet. 

i1  Cap.  What  noise  is  this  ?— Give  me  my  long 
sword,  ho  ! 

Enter  Montague  and  Lady  Montague. 

Mon.  Thou  villian,  Capulet. 

[Trumpets  and  alarums. 

Enter  Prince,  with  Attendants. 

Prin.  Rebellious  subjects,  enemies  to  peace, 
Profaners  of  this  neighbour-stained  steel, — 

Will  they  not  hear  ? 

I On  pain  of  torture,  from  those  bloody  hands 
Throw  your  mis-temper’d  weapons  to  the  ground, 
i And  hear  the  sentence  of  your  moved  prince. — 

! If  ever  you  disturb  our  streets  again, 

Your  lives  shall  pay  the  forfeit  of  the  peace, 
f For  this  time,  all  the  rest  depart  away. 

You,  Capulet,  shall  go  along  with  me  ; 

And,  Montague,  come  you  this  afternoon, 

To  know  our  farther  pleasure  in  this  case. 

Once  more,  on  pain  of  death,  all  men  depart. 

[. Exeunt  Prince  and  Attendants  : Capulet,  Lady 
Capulet,  Tybalt,  Citizens  and  Servants. 
Mon.  Who  set  this  ancient  quarrel  new  abroach  ?— 
j Speak,  nephew,  were  you  by  when  it  began  ? 

Ben.  Here  were  the  servants  of  your  adversary, 
And  yours,  close  fighting  ere  I did  approach  : 

I drew  to  part  them  * in  the  instant  came 
The  fiery  Tybalt,  with  his  sword  prepared. 

While  we  were  interchanging  thrusts  and  blows, 
Came  more  and  more,  and  fought  on  part  and  part, 
Till  the  prince  came,  who  parted  either  part. 

La.  Mon.  O,  where  is  Romeo  ? — saw  you  him  to- 
day ? 

Right  glad  I am,  he  was  not  at  this  fray. 

Ben.  Madam,  an  hour  before  the  worshipp’d  sun 
Peer’d  forth  the  golden  window  of  the  east, 


U ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

A troubled  mind  drave  me  to  walk  abroad : 

Where,  underneath  the  grove  of  sycamore, 

That  westward  rooteth  from  the  city’s  side, — 

So  early  walking  did  I see  your  son  : 

Towards  him  I made  ; but  he  was  ’ware  of  me, 

And  stole  into  the  covert  of  the  wood. 

Enter  Romeo,  at  a distance. 

Ben.  See  where  he  comes : So  please  you  step 
aside ; 

I’ll  know  his  grievance,  or  be  much  denied. 

Mon.  I would,  thou  wert  so  happy  by  thy  stay, 

To  hear  true  shrift. — Come,  madam,  let’s  away. 

[Exeunt  Montague  and  Lady. 
Ben.  Good  morrow,  cousin. 

Rom.  Is  the  day  so  young  ? 

Ben.  But  new  struck  nine. 

Rom.  Ah  me  ! sad  hours  seem  long. 

Was  that  my  father  that  went  hence  so  fast  ? 

Ben.  It  was  : — What  sadness  lengthens  Romeo’s 
hours  ? 

Rom.  Not  having  that  which,  having,  makes 
them  short. 

Ben.  In  love  ? 

Rom.  Out — 

Ben.  Of  love  ? 

Rom.  Out  of  her  favour,  where  I am  in  love. 

Ben.  Alas,  that  love,  so  gentle  in  his  view, 

Should  be  so  tyrannous  and  rough  in  proof ! 

Rom.  Alas,  that  love,  whose  view  is  muffled  still. 
Should,  without  eyes,  see  pathways  to  his  will ! 
Where  shall  we  dine  ? — O me  ! — What  fray  was 
here  ? 

Yet  tell  me  not,  for  I have  heard  it  all. 

Here’s  much  to  do  with  hate,  but  more  with  love : — 
Why  then,  O brawling  love  ! O loving  hate  ! 

O anything,  of  nothing  first  create ! 

O heavy  lightness  ! serious  vanity  ! 


ACT  I.  SCENE  I. 


13 


1 Mis-shapen  chaos  of  well-seeming  forms ! 

I This  love  feel  I,  that  feel  no  love  in  this, 

; Dost  thou  not  laugh  ? 

Ben.  No,  coz,  I rather  weep. 

Rom.  Good  heart,  at  what  ? 

Ben.  At  thy  good  heart’s  oppression. 

Tell  me  in  sadness,  who  she  is  you  love. 

Rom.  In  sadness,  cousin,  I do  love  a woman. 

Ben.  I aim’d  so  near,  when  I supposed  you  loved. 
Rom.  A right  good  marksman  ! — And  she’s  fair 
I love. 

Well,  in  that  hit  you  miss  : she’ll  not  be  hit 
With  Cupid’s  arrow,  she  hath  Dian’s  wit ; 

And,  in  strong  proof  of  chastity  well  arm’d 
From  love’s  weak  childish  bow  she  lives  unharm’d. 
O,  she  is  rich  in  beauty  ; only  poor, 

That,  when  she  dies,  with  beauty  dies  her  store. 

Ben.  Be  ruled  by  me,  forget  to  think  of  her. 

Rom.  O,  teach  me  how  I should  forget  to  think, 
Ben.  By  giving  liberty  unto  thine  eyes  ; 

Examine  other  beauties. 

Rom.  He,  that  is  stricken  blind  cannot  forget 
The  precious  treasure  of  his  eyesight  lost : 

Shew  me  a mistress,  that  is  passing  fair, 

What  doth  her  beauty  serve,  but  as  a note, 

Where  I may  read,  who  pass’d  that  passing  fair  ? 
Farewell ; thou  canst  not  teach  me  to  forget. 

Ben.  I’ll  pay  that  doctrine,  or  else  die  in  debt. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Capulet,  Paris,  and  Peter. 

Cap . But  Montague  is  bound  as  well  as  I, 

In  penalty  alike ; and  ’tis  not  hard,  I think, 

For  men  so  old  as  we  to  keep  the  peace. 

Par.  Of  honourable  reckoning  are  you  both  ; 

And  pity  ’tis  you.  lived  at  odds  so  long. 

But  now,  my  lord,  what  say  you  to  my  suit  ? 

Cap.  But  saying  o’er  what  I have  said  before  : 

My  child  is  yet  a stranger  in  the  world, 


V 


14  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

She  hath  not  seen  the  change  of  eighteen  years ; 

Let  two  more  summers  wither  in  their  pride, 

Ere  we  may  think  her  ripe  to  be  a bride. 

Par.  Younger  than  she  are  happy  mothers  made. 
Cap.  And  too  soon  marr’d  are  those  so  early  made. 
The  earth  hath  swallow’d  all  my  hopes  but  she ; 

But  woo  her,  gentle  Paris,  get  her  heart, 

My  will  to  her  consent  is  but  a part ; 

This  night  I hold  an  old  accustom’d  feast, 

Whereto  I have  invited  many  a guest, 

Such  as  I love  ; and  you,  among  the  store, 

One  more,  most  welcome,  makes  my  number  more. 
Come,  go  with  me ; — Go,  sirrah,  trudge  about 
Through  fair  Verona  ; find  those  persons  out, 

Whose  names  are  written  there  ( gives  a paper),  and 
to  them  say, 

My  house  and  welcome  on  their  pleasure  stay. 

[Exeunt  Capulet  and  Paris. 
Peter.  Find  them  out,  whose  names  are  written  ? 
I am  sent  to  find  out  those  persons,  whose  names 
are  here  writ,  and  can  never  find  what  names  the 
the  writing  person  hath  here  writ.  I must  to  the 
learned  : — In  good  time. 

Enter  Benvolio  and  Romeo. 

Ben.  Tut,  man ! one  fire  burns  out  another’s 
burning, 

One  pain  is  lessen’d  by  another’s  anquish  : 

Turn  giddy,  and  be  holp  by  backward  turning ; 

One  desperate  grief  cures  with  another’s  languish  : 
Take  thou  some  new  infection  to  thy  eye, 

And  the  rank  poison  of  the  old  will  die. 

Rom.  Your  plantain  leaf  is  excellent  for  that. 

Ben.  For  what,  I pray  thee  ? 

Rom.  For  your  broken  shin. 

Ben.  Why,  Romeo,  art  thou  mad  ? 

Rom.  Not  mad,  but  bound  more  than  a madman 
is  : 


ACT  I.  SCENE  I. 


15 


Shut  up  in  prison,  kept  without  my  food, 

Whipp’d  and  tormented,  and  — Good  e’en,  good 
fellow. 

Peter.  God  gi’  good  e’en. — I pray,  sir,  can  you 
read  ? 

Rom.  Ay,  mine  own  fortune  in  my  misery. 

Peter.  Perhaps  you  have  learn’d  it  without  book : 
But,  I pray,  can  you  read  anything  you  see  ? 

Rom.  Ay,  if  I know  the  letters  and  the  language. 
Peter.  Ye  say  honestly  : Rest  you  merry  ! 

Rom.  Stay,  fellow  : I can  read.  [Reads. 

Signior  M artino,  and  his  wife  and  daughters  ; 

County  Anselme,  and  his  beauteous  sisters; 

The  lady  widow  of  Vitruvio  ; 

Signior  Placentio,  and  his  lovely  nieces  ; 

Mercutio,  and  his  brother  Valentine  ; 

Mine  uncle  Capulet,  his  wife , and  daughters  ; 

My  fair  niece  Rosaline,  and  Livia ; 

Signior  Valentio,  and  his  cousin  Tybalt ; 

Lucio,  and  the  lovely  Helena. 

A fair  assembly  (gives  back  the  note).  Whither  should 
they  come  ? 

Peter.  Up. 

Rom.  Whither? 

Peter.  To  supper;  to  our  house. 

Rom.  Whose  house  ? 

Peter.  My  master’s. 

Rom.  Indeed,  I should  have  asked  you  that  before. 
Peter.  Now,  I’ll  tell  you  without  asking : My 
master  is  the  great  rich  Capulet ; and  if  you  be  not 
of  the  house  of  Montagues,  I pray  come  and  crush 
a cup  of  wine.  Rest  you  merry.  [Exit. 

Ben.  At  this  same  ancient  feast  of  Capulet’s 
Sups  the  fair  Rosaline,  whom  thou  so  lov’st ; 

With  all  the  admired  beauties  of  Verona  : 

Go  hither,  and  with  unattainted  eye, 

Compare  her  face  with  some  that  I shall  shew, 

And  I will  make  thee  think  thy  swan  a crow. 

Rom.  When  the  devout  religion  of  mine  eye 


i6 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Mantains  such  falsehood,  then  turn  tears  to  fires  ! 
One  fairer  than  my  love  ! the  all-seeing  sun 
Ne’er  saw  her  match,  since  first  the  world  begun. 

Ben.  Tut ! you  saw  her  fair,  none  else  being  by, 
Herself  poised  with  herself  in  either  eye  : 

But  in  those  crystal  scales  let  there  be  weigh’d 
Your  lady’s  love  against  some  other  maid 
That  I will  shew  you,  shining  at  this  feast, 

And  she  shall  scant  shew  well,  that  now  shews  best. 

Rom.  I’ll  go  along,  no  such  sight  to  be  shewn, 

But  to  rejoice  in  splendour  of  mine  own.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  2.  A Room  in  Capulet's  House. 

Enter  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurse.  1 

! 

Lady  Capulet. 

tSE,  where’s  my  daughter  ? call  her  forth 
me. 

Nurse.  I bade  her  come. — What,  lamb  ! 
what,  ladybird ! — 

God  forbid  !— where’s  this  girl  ?— what,  Juliet ! 


Enter  Juliet. 

Jul.  How  now,  who  calls  ? 

Nurse.  Your  mother. 

jul.  Madam,  I am  here, 

What  is  your  will  ? 

La.  Cap.  This  is  the  matter Nurse,  give  leave 
awhile, 

We  must  talk  in  secret.  Nurse,  come  back  again  ; 

I have  remember’d  me,  thou  shalt  hear  our  counsel. 
Thou  know’st  my  daughter’s  of  a pretty  age. 

Nurse.  Faith,  I can  tell  her  age  unto  an  hour. 


ACT  I.  SCENE  II. 


x7 


La.  Cap.  She’s  not  eighteen. 

Nurse.  I’ll  lay  eighteen  of  my  teeth, 

And  yet  I have  but  eight. 

She  is  not  eighteen ; how  long  is  it  now 
To  Lammas-tide? 

La.  Cap.  A fortnight  and  odd  days. 

Nurse.  Even  or  odd,  come  Lammas-tide  at  eve. 
Why,  Susan  and  she — (God  rest  all  Christian 
souls !) — 

Were  of  an  age. — Well,  Susan  is  with  God  ; 

She  was  too  good  for  me.  But,  as  I said, 

’Tis  since  the  earthquake  now  eleven  years, — 

And  of  all  days  in  the  year,  I never  shall  forget  it ! 
For,  sitting  i’  the  sun  under  the  dove-house  wall ; 

My  lord  and  you  were  then  at  Mantua  : — 

And  since  that  time  it  is  eleven  years : 

For  then  she  could  stand  alone ; nay,  by  the  rood, 
She  could  have  run  and  waddled  all  about. 

For  even  the  day  before  she  fell  and  broke  her  brow, 

And  it  had  upon  it’s  brow  a bump  as  big 

And  then  my  husband — (God  rest  his  soul) ! 

A was  a merry  man ! — took  up  the  child, 

And  quoth  he  : Yea,  dost  thou  fall  upon  thy  face  ? 

Thou  wilt  fall  backwards,  when  thou  hast  more  wit ; 

Wilt  thou  not,  Jule  ? and,  by  my  holy-dam, 

The  pretty  wretch  left  crying,  and  said — Ay  : 

To  see  now,  how  a jest  shall  come  about ! 

I warrant,  an  I should  live  a thousand  years, 

I never  should  forget  it : Wilt  thou  not,  Jule  ? quoth 
he : 

And,  pretty  fool,  it  stinted,  and  said — Ay. 

La.  Cap.  Enough  of  this ; I pray  thee,  hold  thy 
peace. 

Nurse.  Yes,  madam  ; yet  I cannot  choose  but 
laugh, 

To  think  it  should  leave  crying,  and  say — Ay  : 

Thou  wast  the  prettiest  babe  that  e’er  I nursed  : 

An  I might  live  to  see  thee  married  once, 

I have  my  wish. 

B 


i8 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


La.  Cap.  Marry,  that  marry  is  the  very  theme 
I came  to  talk  of : — Tell  me,  daughter  Juliet, 

How  stands  your  disposition  to  be  married  ? 

Jul.  It  is  an  honour  that  I dream  not  of. 

Nurse.  An  honour ! 

La.  Cap.  Well,  think  of  marriage  now ; younger 
than  you. 

Here  in  Verona,  ladies  of  esteem, 

Are  made  already  mothers : by  my  count, 

I was  your  mother  much  upon  these  years, 

That  you  are  now  a maid.  Thus,  then,  in  brief ; — 
The  valiant  Paris  seeks  you  for  his  love. 

Nurse.  A man,  young  lady ! lady,  such  a man, 

As  all  the  world — Why,  he’s  a man  of  wax. 

La.  Cap.  Verona’s  summer  hath  not  such  a flower. 
Nurse.  Nay,  he’s  a flower ; in  faith,  a very  flower. 
La.  Cap.  What  say  you?  can  you  love  the  gentleman? 
This  night  you  shall  behold  him  at  our  feast ; 

Read  o’er  the  volume  of  young  Paris’  face, 

And  find  delight  writ  there  with  beauty’s  pen ; 
Examine  every  married  lineament, 

And  see  how  one  another  lends  content. 

Speak  briefly,  can  you  like  of  Paris’  love  ? 

Jul.  I’ll  look  to  like,  if  looking  liking  move  : 

But  no  more  deep  will  I endart  mine  eye, 

Than  your  consent  gives  strength  to  make  it  fly. 

Enter  Peter. 

Peter.  Madam,  the  guests  are  come,  supper  served 
up,  you  called,  my  young  lady  asked  for,  the  nurse 
cursed  in  the  pantry,  and  everything  in  extremity. 
I must  hence  to  wait;  I beseech  you,  follow  straight. 
La.  Cap.  We  follow  thee. — Juliet,  the  county  stays. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  I.  SCENE  III. 


19 


Scene  3.  A Street. 

Enter  Romeo,  Mercutio,  Benvolio,  with  Maskers, 
Torch-bearers,  and  others. 

Romeo. 

HAT,  shall  this  speech  be  spoke  for  our 
excuse  ? 

Or  shall  we  on  without  apology  ? 

Ben.  Let  them  measure  us  by  what  they  will, 

We’ll  measure  them  a measure,  and  be  gone. 

Rom.  Give  me  a torch, — I am  not  for  this  ambling; 
Being  but  heavy,  I will  bear  the  light. 

Mer.  Nay,  gentle  Romeo,  we  must  have  you  dance. 
Rom.  Not  I,  believe  me ; you  have  dancing  shoes, 
With  nimble  soles  : I have  a soul  of  lead, 

So  stakes  me  to  the  ground,  I cannot  move. 

Mer.  You  are  a lover;  borrow  Cupid’s  wings, 

And  soar  with  them  above  a common  bound. 

Rom.  I am  too  sore  empierced  with  his  shaft, 

To  soar  with  his  light  feathers ; and  so  bound, 

I cannot  bound  a pitch  above  dull  woe  : 

Under  love’s  heavy  burden  do  I sink. 

Mer.  Give  me  a case  to  put  my  visage  in. 

[Putting  on  a mask. 

A visor  for  a visor  ! — what  care  I, 

What  curious  eye  doth  quote  deformities  ? 

Ben.  Come,  knock,  and  enter ; and  no  sooner  in, 
But  every  man  betake  him  to  his  legs. 

Rom.  A torch  for  me  : 

I’ll  be  a candle-holder,  and  look  on. — 

We  mean  well,  in  going  to  this  mask, 

But  ’tis  no  wit  to  go. 

Mer.  Why,  may  one  ask  ? 

Rom.  I dreamt  a dream  to-night. 

b 2 


20 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Mer.  And  so  did  I. 

Rom.  Well,  what  was  yours  ? 

Mer.  That  dreamers  often  lie. 

Rom.  In  bed,  asleep,  while  they  do  dream  things 
true. 

Mer.  O,  then,  I see,  queen  Mab  hath  been  with 
you. 

She  is  the  fairies’  midwife,  and  she  comes 
In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate-stone 
On  the  fore-finger  of  an  alderman, 

Drawn  with  a team  of  little  atomies 
Athwart  men’s  noses  as  they  lie  asleep  : 

Her  waggon-spokes  made  of  long  spinners’  legs  ; 

The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers  ; 

The  traces,  of  the  smallest  spider’s  web ; 

The  collars,  of  the  moonshine’s  watery  beams  ; 

Her  whip,  of  cricket’s  bone  ; the  lash,  of  film  : 

Her  waggoner,  a small  grey-coated  gnat, 

Not  half  so  big  as  a round  little  worm 
Prick’d  from  the  lazy  finger  of  a maid  : 

Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel-nut, 

Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel,  or  old  grub, 

Time  out  of  mind  the  fairies’  coach-makers. 

And  in  this  state  she  gallops  night  by  night 
Through  lovers’  brains,  and  then  they  dream  of  love  ! 
O’er  courtiers’  knees,  that  dream  on  courtsies 
straight ; 

O’er  lawyers’  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on  fees ; 
O’er  ladies  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream. 
Sometimes  she  gallops  o’er  a courtier’s  nose, 

And  then  dreams  he  of  smelling  out  a suit. 

And  sometimes  comes  she  with  a tithe-pig’s  tail, 
Tickling  a parson’s  nose  as  ’a  lies  asleep, 

Then  dreams  he  of  another  benefice  : 

Sometimes  she  driveth  o’er  a soldier’s  neck, 

And  then  dreams  he  of  cutting  foreign  throats, 

Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades, 

Of  healths  five  fathom  deep  ; and  then  anon 
Drums  in  his  ear ; at  which  he  starts,  and  wakes  ; 


ACT  I.  SCENE  IV. 


21 


And,  being  thus  frighted,  swears  a prayer  or  two, 
And  sleeps  again.  This  is  that  very  Mab, 

That  plaits  the  manes  of  horses  in  the  night, 

This,  this  is  she — 

Rom . Peace,  peace,  Mercutio,  peace  ; 

Thou  talk’st  of  nothing. 

Mer.  True,  I talk  of  dreams, 

Which  are  the  children  of  an  idle  brain, 

Begot  of  nothing  but  vain  fantasy  ; 

Which  is  as  thin  of  substance  as  the  air, 

And  more  inconstant  than  the  wind,  who  woos 
Even  now  the  frozen  bosom  of  the  north. 

Ben.  This  wind  you  talk  of  blows  us  from  our- 
selves ; 

Supper  is  done,  and  we  shall  come  too  late. 

Rom . I fear,  too  early  ; for  my  mind  misgives, 
Some  consequence,  yet  hanging  in  the  stars, 

Shall  bitterly  begin  his  fearful  date 
With  this  night’s  revels  ; 

But  He  that  hath  the  steerage  of  my  course, 

Direct  my  sail ! — On,  lusty  gentlemen. 

Mer.  Strike,  drum.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  4.  A Hall  in  Capulet's  House. 

Guests.  Musicians  waiting.  Capulet,  Lady 
Capulet,  Juliet,  Paris,  Pages,  &c. 


Enter  Mercutio,  Romeo,  Benvolio,  and  Maskers. 


Capidet. 

ENTLEMEN,  welcome!  ladies,  that  have 
their  toes 

Unplagued  with  corns,  will  have  a bout  with 


you. — 

Ah,  ha,  my  mistresses  ! which  of  you  all 


22  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

Will  now  deny  to  dance  ? she  that  makes  dainty, 
she, 

I’ll  swear  hath  corns  : Am  I come  near  you  now  ? 
You  are  welcome,  gentlemen  ! I have  seen  the  day 
That  I have  worn  a visor  ; and  could  tell 
A whispering  tale  in  a fair  lady’s  ear, 

Such  as  would  please ; — ’tis  gone,  ’tis  gone,  ’tis  gone : 
You  are  welcome,  gentlemen  ! — Come,  musicians, 
play. 

A hall ! a hall ! give  room  and  foot  it,  girls. 

[Music  plays  and  they  dance . 

More  light,  ye  knaves  ; 

And  quench  the  fire,  the  room  is  grown  too  hot. — 
Nay,  sit,  nay,  sit,  good  cousin  Capulet ; 

For  you  and  I are  past  our  dancing  days. 

Sampson  comes  down. 

Rom . What  lady’s  that  which  doth  enrich  the 
hand 

Of  yonder  knight  ? 

Sam.  I know  not,  sir. 

Rom.  O,  she  doth  teach  the  torches  to  burn  bright ! 
Her  beauty  hangs  upon  the  cheek  of  night 
Like  a rich  jewel  in  an  Ethiop’s  ear : 

Beauty  too  rich  for  use,  for  earth  too  dear  ! 

So  shews  a snowy  dove  trooping  with  crows, 

As  yonder  lady  o’er  her  fellows  shews. 

The  measure  done,  I’ll  watch  her  place  of  stand, 
And,  touching  hers,  make  happy  my  rude  hand. 

Did  my  heart  love  till  now  ? forswear  it,  sight  ! 

For  I ne’er  saw  true  beauty  till  this  night. 

Tyb.  This,  by  his  voice,  should  be  a Montague. — * 
Fetch  me  my  rapier,  boy. — What ! dares  the  slave 
Come  hither,  cover’d  with  an  antic  face, 

To  fleer  and  scorn  at  our  solemnity  ? 

Now  by  the  stock  and  honour  of  my  kin, 

To  strike  him  dead  I hold  it  not  a sin. 

Cap.  Why,  how  now,  kinsman  ? wherefore  storm 
you  so  ? 


ACT  I.  SCENE  IV. 


23 


Tyb.  Uncle,  this  is  Montague,  our  foe  ; 

A villain,  that  is  hither  come  in  spite, 

To  scorn  at  our  solemnity  this  night. 

Cap . Young  Romeo  is’t  ? 

Tyb.  ’Tis  he,  that  villain  Romeo. 

Cap.  Content  thee,  gentle  coz,  let  him  alone, 

He  bears  him  like  a portly  gentleman  ; 

And,  to  say  truth,  Verona  brags  of  him, 

To  be  a virtuous  and  well  govern’d  youth. 

Tyb.  I’ll -not  endure  him. 

Cap.  He  shall  be  endured  : 

What,  goodman  boy  ! — I say  he  shall ; — Go  to  ; — 
Tyb.  Patience  perforce  with  wilful  choler  meeting, 
Makes  my  flesh  tremble  in  their  different  greeting. 

I will  withdraw : but  this  intrusion  shall, 

Now  seeming  sweet,  convert  to  bitter  gall.  [Exit. 
Rom.  [To  Juliet.]  If  I profane  with  my  unworthy 
hand 

This  holy  shrine,  the  gentle  fine  is  this. — 

My  lips,  two  blushing  pilgrims,  ready  Stand 
To  smooth  that  rough  touch  with  a tender  kiss. 
Jul.  Good  pilgrim,  you  do  wrong  your  hand  too 
much, 

Which  mannerly  devotion  shows  in  this  ; 

For  saints  have  hands  that  pilgrims’  hands  do 
touch, 

And  palm  to  palm  is  holy  palmers’  kiss. 

Rom.  Have  not  saints  lips,  and  holy  palmers  too  ? 
Jul.  Ay,  pilgrim,  lips  that  they  must  use  in 
prayer, 

Rom.  O then,  dear  saint,  let  lips  do  what  hands 
do, 

They  pray,  grant  thou,  lest  faith  turn  to  despair. 

Jul.  Saints  do  not  move,  though  grant  for  prayers’ 
sake. 

Rom.  Then  move  not  while  my  prayers’  effect  I 
take. 

Thus  from  my  lips,  by  yours,  my  sin  is  purged. 

[Kissing  her. 


24  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

Jul.  Then  have  my  lips  the  sin  that  they  have 
took. 

Rom.  Sin  from  my  lips  ? O trespass  sweetly 
urged  ! 

Give  me  my  sin  again. 

Jul.  You  kiss  by  the  book. 

Nurse.  Madam,  your  mother  craves  a word  with 
you. 

Rom.  What  is  her  mother  ? 

Nurse.  Marry,  bachelor, 

Her  mother  is  a lady  of  the  house, 

And  a good  lady,  and  a wise,  and  virtuous  : 

I nursed  her  daughter,  that  you  talk’d  withal ; 

Rom.  Is  she  a Capulet  ? 

0 dear  account ! my  life  is  my  foe’s  debt. 

Mer.  Away,  begone  ; the  sport  is  at  the  best. 

Rom.  Ay,  so  I fear ; the  more  is  my  unrest, 

Cap.  Nay,  gentlemen,  prepare  not  to  be  gone  : 

We  have  a trifling  foolish  banquet  towards — 

Is  it  e’en  so  ? Why,  then,  I thank  you  all ; 

1 thank  you,  honest  gentlemen  ; good  night. — 

More  torches  here  ! — Come  on,  then  let’s  to  bed. 

[. Exeunt  all  but  Juliet,  Nurse  and  pages. 
Jul.  Come  hither,  nurse : what  is  yon  gentle- 
man ? 

Nurse.  The  son  and  heir  of  old  Tiberio. 

Jul.  What’s  he  that  now  is  going  out  of  door  ? 
Nurse.  Marry,  that,  I think,  be  young  Petruchio. 
Jul.  What’s  he  that  follows  there,  that  would  not 
dance  ? 

Nurse.  I know  not. 

Jul.  Go,  ask  his  name — if  he  be  married, 

My  grave  is  like  to  be  my  wedding  bed. 

Nurse.  His  name  is  Romeo,  and  a Montague ; 

The  only  son  of  your  great  enemy. 

Jul.  My  only  love  sprung  from  my  only  hate  ! 

Too  early  seen  unknown,  and  known  too  late, 
Nurse.  What’s  this  ? what’s  this  ? 


ACT  I.  SCENE  IV. 


25 

Jul.  A rhyme  I learn’d  even  now 

Of  one  I danced  withal. 

[Lady  Capulet  calls  within , Juliet ! 
Nurse.  Anon,  anon  : — 

Come  let’s  away  ; the  strangers  are  all  gone. 

[Exeunt. 


* 


ACT  II. 

Scene  i.  A Street  adjoining  Capulet’s  Garden. 

Enter  Benvolio  and  Mercutio. 

Benvolio. 

OMEO  ! my  cousin  Romeo  ! 

Mer.  He  is  wise  ; 

And,  on  my  life,  hath  stolen  him  home  to 
bed. 

Ben.  He  ran  this  way,  and  leap’d  this  orchard 
wall ; 

Call,  good  Mercutio. 

Mer.  Nay,  I’ll  conjure  too — 

Romeo  ! humours  ! madman  ! passion  ! lover  ! 
Appear  thou  in  the  likeness  of  a sigh, 

Speak  but  one  rhyme,  and  I am  satisfied  ; 

Cry  but— Ah  me  ! couple  but — love  and  dove  ; 

Speak  to  my  gossip  Venus  one  fair  word, 

One  nickname  for  her  purblind  son  and  heir. 

I conjure  thee  by  Rosaline’s  bright  eyes, 

By  her  high  forehead,  and  her  scarlet  lip, 

That  in  thy  likeness  thou  appear  to  us. 

Ben.  And  if  he  hear  thee,  thou  wilt  anger  him. 
Mer.  This  cannot  anger  him.  My  invocation 
Is  fair  and  honest,  and,  in  his  mistress’  name, 

I conjure  only  but  to  raise  up  him. 

Ben.  Come,  he  hath  hid  himself  among  those 
trees, 

To  be  consorted  with  the  humorous  night. 

Blind  is  his  love,  and  best  befits  the  dark. 


ACT  It.  SCENE  It.  27 

Mer.  Romeo,  good  night — I’ll  to  my  truckle-bed  ; 
This  field-bed  is  too  cold  for  me  to  sleep. 

Come,  shall  we  go  ? 

Ben.  Go,  then  ; for  ’tis  in  vain 

To  seek  him  here,  that  means  not  to  be  found. 

Mer.  Romeo  ! Romeo  ! [Exeunt. 


Scene  2.  Capulet's  Garden. 

Enter  Romeo. 

Romeo. 

E jests  at  scars  that  never  felt  a wound. 

[Juliet  appears  above,  at  a window. 
But,  soft ! what  light  through  yonder  window 
breaks  ! 

It  is  the  east,  and  Juliet  is  the  sun  ! — 

Arise,  fair  sun,  and  kill  the  envious  moon, 

Who  is  already  sick  and  pale  with  grief, 

That  thou  her  maid  art  far  more  fair  than  she. 

It  is  my  lady  ; O,  it  is  my  love. 

O,  that  she  knew  she  were  !— * 

She  speaks,  yet  she  says  nothing  ; What  of  that  ? 
Her  eye  discourses,  I will  answer  it. — 

I am  too  bold,  ’tis  not  to  me  she  speaks  : 

Two  of  the  fairest  stars  in  all  the  heaven, 

Having  some  business,  do  entreat  her  eyes 
To  twinkle  in  their  spheres  till  they  return. 

What  if  her  eyes  were  there,  they  in  her  head  ? 

The  brightness  of  her  cheek  would  shame  those 
stars, 

As  daylight  doth  a lamp  ; her  eyes  in  heaven 
Would  through  the  airy  region  stream  so  bright, 
That  birds  would  sing,  and  think  it  were  not  night. 
See  how  she  leans  her  cheek  upon  her  hand  ! 


28 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


O,  that  I were  a glove  upon  that  hand, 

That  I might  touch  that  cheek  ! 

Jul.  Ah  me  ! 

Rom.  She  speaks  : — 

O,  speak  again,  bright  angel ! for  thou  art 
As  glorious  to  this  night,  being  o’er  my  head, 

As  is  a winged  messenger  of  heaven 
Unto  the  white-upturned  wond’ring  eyes 
Of  mortals,  that  fall  back  to  gaze  on  him, 

When  he  bestrides  the  lazy-pacing  clouds, 

And  sails  upon  the  bosom  of  the  air. 

Jul.  O Romeo,  Romeo ! wherefore  art  thou  Romeo? 
Deny  thy  father,  and  refuse  thy  name  : 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  not,  be  but  sworn  my  love, 

And  I’ll  no  longer  be  a Capulet. 

Rom.  Shall  I hear  more,  or  shall  I speak  at  this  ? 

[A  side. 

Jul.  ’Tis  but  thy  name  that  is  my  enemy  ; — 

Thou  art  thyself,  though  not  a Montague. 

What’s  Montague  ? it  is  nor  hand,  nor  foot, 

Nor  arm,  nor  face,  nor  any  other  part 
Belonging  to  a man.  O,  be  some  other  name  ! 
What’s  in  a name  ? that  which  we  call  a rose, 

By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet ; 

So  Romeo  would,  were  he  not  Romeo  call’d, 

Retain  that  dear  perfection  which  he  owes, 

Without  that  title  : — Romeo,  doff  thy  name, 

And  for  that  name,  which  is  no  part  of  thee, 

Take  all  myself. 

Rom . I take  thee  at  thy  word  : 

Call  me  but  love,  and  I’ll  be  new  baptised  ; 
Henceforth  I never  will  be  Romeo. 

Jul.  What  man  art  thou  that,  thus  bescreen’d  in 
night, 

So  stumblest  on  my  counsel  ? 

Rom.  By  a name 

I know  not  how  to  tell  thee  who  I am  : 

My  name,  dear  saint,  is  hateful  to  myself, 

Because  it  is  an  enemy  to  thee  ; 


ACT  II.  SCENE  II. 


29 


Had  I it  written,  I would  tear  the  word. 

Jul.  My  ears  have  not  yet  drunk  a hundred  words 
Of  that  tongue’s  utterance,  yet  I know  the  sound  : 
Art  thou  not  Romeo,  and  a Montague  ? 

Rom.  Neither,  fair  saint,  if  either  thee  dislike. 

Jul.  How  cam’st  thou  hither,  tell  me  ? and 
wherefore  ? 

The  orchard  walls  are  high,  and  hard  to  climb  ; 

And  the  place  death,  considering  who  thou  art, 

If  any  of  my  kinsmen  find  thee  here. 

Rom.  With  love’s  light  wings  did  I o’er-perch 
these  walls  ; 

For  stony  limits  cannot  hold  love  out : 

And  what  love  can  do,  that  dares  love  attempt ; 
Therefore  thy  kinsmen  are  no  let  to  me. 

Jul.  If  they  do  see  thee,  they  will  murder  thee. 
Rom.  Alack  ! there  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye, 
Than  twenty  of  their  swords  ; look  thou  but  sweet, 
And  I am  proof  against  their  enmity. 

Jul.  I would  not  for  the  world  they  saw  thee  here. 
Rom.  I have  night’s  cloak  to  hide  me  from  their 
sight ; 

And,  but  thou  love  me,  let  them  find  me  here  : 

My  life  was  better  ended  by  their  hate, 

Than  death  prorogued,  wanting  of  thy  love. 

Jul.  By  whose  direction  found’st  thou  out  this 
place  ? 

Rom.  By  love,  who  first  did  prompt  me  to  inquire  ; 
He  lent  me  counsel,  and  I lent  him  eyes. 

I am  no  pilot,  yet  wert  thou  so  far 

As  that  vast  shore  wash’d  with  the  farthest  sea, 

I would  adventure  for  such  merchandise. 

Jul.  Thou  know’st  the  mask  of  night  is  on  my 
face  ; 

Else  would  a maiden  blush  bepaint  my  cheek, 

For  that  which  thou  hast  heard  me  speak  to-night. 
Fain  would  I dwell  on  form ; fain,  fain  deny 
What  I have  spoke  ; but  farewell,  compliment ! 

Dost  love  me  ? I know  thou  wilt  say — Ay  ; 


30  ROMEO  AND  JULIET . 

And  I will  take  thy  word  : yet  if  thou  swear’st 
Thou  mayst  prove  false  ; at  lovers’  perjuries, 

They  say,  Jove  laughs.  O gentle  Romeo, 

If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully. 

Or  if  thou  think’st  I am  too  quickly  won, 

I’ll  frown  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay, 

So  thou  wilt  woo  ; but,  else,  not  for  the  world. 

In  truth,  fair  Montague,  I am  too  fond  ; 

And  therefore  thou  mayst  think  my  haviour  light 
But  trust  me,  gentleman,  I’ll  prove  more  true 
Than  those  that  have  more  cunning  to  be  strange. 

I should  have  been  more  strange,  I must  confess, 
But  that  thou  overheard’st,  ere  I was  ware, 

My  true  love’s  passion  : therefore  pardon  me  ; 

And  not  impute  this  yielding  to  light  love, 

Which  the  dark  night  hath  so  discovered. 

Rom.  By  yonder  blessed  moon  I swear — 

Jul.  O,  swear  not  by  the  moon,  the  inconstant 
moon, 

That  monthly  changes  in  her  circled  orb, 

Lest  that  thy  love  prove  likewise  variable. 

Rom.  What  shall  I swear  by  ? 

Jul.  Do  not  swear  at  all ; 

Or,  if  thou  wilt,  swear  by  thy  gracious  self, 

Which  is  the  god  of  my  idolatry, 

And  I’ll  believe  thee. 

Rom.  If  my  heart’s  dear  love — 

Jul.  Well,  do  not  swear  : although  I joy  in  thee, 

I have  no  joy  of  this  contract  to-night  : 

It  is  too  rash,  too  unadvised,  too  sudden ; 

Too  like  the  lightning,  which  doth  cease  to  be, 

Ere  one  can  say — It  lightens.  Sweet,  good  night ! 
This  bud  of  love,  by  summer’s  ripening  breath, 

May  prove  a beauteous  flower  when  next  we  meet. 
Good  night,  good  night ! as  sweet  repose  and  rest 
Come  to  thy  heart,  as  that  within  my  breast ! 

Rom.  O,  wilt  thou  leave  me  so  unsatisfied  ? 

Jul.  What  satisfaction  canst  thou  have  to-night  ? 
Rom.  The  exchange  of  thy  love’s  faithful  vow  for 
mine. 


ACT  II.  SCENE  II. 


3* 


Jul.  I gave  thee  mine  before  thou  did’st  request  it : 
And  yet  I would  it  were  to  give  again. 

Rom.  Would’st  thou  withdraw  it  ? for  what  pur- 
pose, love  ? 

Jul.  But  to  be  frank,  and  give  it  thee  again. 

And  yet  I wish  but  for  the  thing  I have  : 

My  bounty  is  as  boundless  as  the  sea, 

My  love  as  deep  ; the  more  I give  to  thee, 

The  more  I have,  for  both  are  infinite. — 

[Nurse  calls  within. 

I hear  some  noise  within  : Dear  love,  adieu  ! — 

Anon,  good  nurse  ! — Sweet  Montague,  be  true. 

Stay,  but  a little,  I will  come  again.  [Exit. 

Rom.  O blessed,  blessed  night ! I am  afeard, 
Being  in  night,  all  this  is  but  a dream, 

Too  flattering-sweet  to  be  substantial. 

Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 

Jul.  Three  words,  dear  Romeo,  and  good  night, 
indeed. 

If  that  thy  bent  of  love  be  honourable, 

Thy  purpose  marriage,  send  me  word  to-morrow 
By  one  that  I’ll  procure  to  come  to  thee, 

Where,  and  what  time,  thou  wilt  perform  the  rite  ; 
And  all  my  fortunes  at  thy  foot  I’ll  lay, 

And  follow  thee,  my  lord,  throughout  the  world. 
Nurse  [ within ] . Madam  ! 

Jul.  I come,  anon  : — But  if  thou  mean’st  not  well, 
I do  beseech  thee, — 

Nurse  [within] . Madam  ! 

Jul.  By  and  by,  I come  : — 

To  cease  thy  suit,  and  leave  me  to  my  grief : 
To-morrow  will  I send. 

Rom.  So  thrive  my  soul, — 

Jul.  A thousand  times  good  night ! [Exit. 

Rom.  A thousand  times  the  worse,  to  want  thy 
light,— 


32 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET . 


Love  goes  toward  love,  as  school-boys  from  their 
books ; 

But  love  from  love,  toward  school  with  heavy  looks. 

[Retiring  slowly. 


Re-enter  Juliet,  above. 

Jul.  Hist,  Romeo,  hist ! — O,  for  a falconer’s  voice. 
To  lure  this  tassel-gentle  back  again  ! 

Bondage  is  hoarse,  and  may  not  speak  aloud ; 

Else  would  I tear  the  cave  where  echo  lies. 

And  make  her  airy  tongue  more  hoarse  than  mine 
With  repetition  of  my  Romeo’s  name. 

Rom.  It  is  my  soul  that  calls  upon  my  name : 

How  silver-sweet  sound  lovers’  tongues  by  night, 
Like  softest  music  to  attending  ears  ! 

Jul.  Romeo  ! 

Rom.  My  sweet ! 

Jul.  At  what  o clock  to-morrow 

Shall  I send  to  thee  ? 

Rom.  At  the  hour  of  nine. 

Jul.  I will  not  fail ; ’tis  twenty  years  till  then. 

I have  forgot  why  I did  call  thee  back. 

Rom.  Let  me  stand  here  till  thou  remember  it. 
Jul.  I shall  forget  to  have  thee  still  stand  there, 
Rememb’ring  how  I love  thy  company. 

Rom.  And  I’ll  still  stay,  to  have  thee  still  forget, 
Forgetting  any  other  house  but  this. 

Jul.  ’Tis  almost  morning,  I would  have  thee  gone: 
And  yet  no  farther  than  a wanton’s  bird  ; 

Who  lets  it  hop  a little  from  her  hand, 

Like  a poor  prisoner  in  his  twisted  gyves, 

And  with  a silk  thread  plucks  it  back  again, 

So  loving-jealous  of  his  liberty. 

Rom.  I would  I were  thy  bird. 

Jul.  Sweet,  so  would  I : 

Yet  I should  kill  thee  with  much  cherishing. 


ACT  II.  SCENE  III. 


33 


Good  night,  good  night  ! parting  is  such  sweet 
sorrow, 

That  I shall  say — good  night,  till  it  be  morrow. 

[Exit. 

Rom.  Sleep  dwell  upon  thy  eyes,  peace  in  thy 
breast ! — 

’Would  I were  sleep  and  peace,  so  sweet  to  rest ! 


c 


ACT  III. 

Scene  i.  The  Monastery. 

Enter  Friar  Laurence,  with  a basket , 

Friar. 

HE  grey-eyed  morn  smiles  on  the  frowning 
night, 

Checkering  the  eastern  clouds  with  streaks 
of  light. 

Now,  ere  the  sun  advance  his  burning  eye, 

The  day  to  cheer,  and  night’s  dank  dew  to  dry, 

I must  up-fill  this  osier-cage  of  ours, 

With  baleful  weeds,  and  precious  juiced  flowers  ; 

For  nought  so  vile,  that  on  the  earth  doth  live, 

But  to  the  earth  some  special  good  doth  give. 

Within  the  infant  rind  of  this  small  flower 
Poison  hath  residence,  and  med’cine  power : 

For  this,  being  smelt,  with  that  part  Gheers  each 
part ; 

Being  tasted,  slays  all  senses  with  the  heart. 

Two  such  opposed  foes  encamp  them  still 
In  man  as  well  as  herbs,  grace,  and  rude  will ; 

And,  where  the  worser  is  predominant, 

Full  soon  the  canker  death  eats  up  that  plant. 

Enter  Romeo. 

Rom.  Good-morrow,  father ! 

Fri.  Benedicite ! 

What  early  tongue  so  sweet  saluteth  me  ? — 
Youngson,  argues  a distemper’d  head, 


ACT  III.  SCENE  II. 


35 


So  soon  to  bid  good  morrow  to  thy  bed : 

Care  keeps  his  watch  in  every  old  man’s  eye, 

And  where  care  lodges,  sleep  will  never  lie ; 
Therefore  thy  earliness  doth  me  assure, 

Thou  art  up-roused  by  some  distemp’rature ; 

Rom.  I have  been  feasting  with  my  enemy ; 
Where,  on  a sudden,  one  hath  wounded  me, 

That’s  by  me  wounded  ; both  our  remedies 
Within  thy  help  and  holy  physic  lies. 

Fri.  Be  plain,  good  son,  and  homely  in  thy  drift ; 
Rom.  Then  plainly  know,  my  heart’s  dear  love  is 
set 

On  the  fair  daughter  of  rich  Capulet : 

As  mine  on  hers. 

When,  and  where,  and  how, 

We  met,  we  woo’d,  and  made  exchange  of  vow, 

I’ll  tell  thee  as  we  pass ; but  this  I pray, 

That  thou  consent  to  marry  us  this  day. 

Fri.  Holy  Saint  Francis  ! what  a change  is  here  ! 
Rom.  I pray  thee  chide  not. 

Fri.  Come,  young  waverer,  come  go  with  me, 

In  one  respect  I’ll  thy  assistant  be ; 

For  this  alliance  may  so  happy  prove, 

To  turn  your  household’s  rancour  to  pure  love. 

Rom.  O,  let  us  hence  ; I stand  on  sudden  haste. 
Fri.  Wisely  and  slow  ; they  stumble  that  run 
fast.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  2.  A Grove. 

Enter  Benvolio  and  Mercutio. 


Mercutio. 

HERE  the  devil  should  this  Romeo  be  ? — 
Came  he  not  home  to-night  ? 

Ben.  Not  to  his  father’s  ; I spoke  with  his 


man. 


36  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

Mer.  Ah,  that  same  pale,  hard-hearted  wench,  that 
Rosaline, 

Torments  him  so,  that  he  will  sure  run  mad. 

Ben.  Tybalt,  the  kinsman  of  old  Capulet, 

Hath  sent  a letter  to  his  father’s  house. 

Mer.  A challenge,  on  my  life. 

Ben.  Romeo  will  answer  it. 

Mer.  Alas,  poor  Romeo,  he  is  already  dead  ! 
stabbed  with  a white  wench’s  black  eye  ; shot 
through  the  ear  with  a love-song ; the  very  pin  of 
his  heart  cleft  with  the  blind  bow-boy’s  but-shaft : 
And  is  he  a man  to  encounter  Tybalt  ? 

Ben.  Why,  what  is  Tybalt  ? 

Mer.  O,  he  is  the  most  courageous  captain  of 
compliments.  He  fights  as  you  sing  prick-song, 
keeps  time,  distance,  and  proportion ; rests  me  his 
minim  rest,  one,  two,  and  the  third  in  your  bosom  ; 
the  very  butcher  of  a silk  button,  a duellist,  a duellist ; 
a gentleman  of  the  very  first  house, — of  the  first  and 
second  cause  : Ah,  the  immortal  passado  ! the  punte 
reverso  ! the  hay  ! 

Ben.  The  what  ? 

Mer.  A plague  of  such  antic,  lisping,  affecting 
fantasticoes ; these  new  tuners  of  accents ! A very 
good  blade  ! — a very  tall  man  ! — a very  good  wench  ! — 
Why,  is  not  this  a lamentable  thing,  grandsire,  that  we 
should  be  thus  afflicted  with  these  strange  flies,  these 
fashion-mongers,  these  pardonnez  moy’s , with  their 
bons , and  their  bells. 

Enter  Romeo. 

Ben.  Here  comes  Romeo. 

Mer.  Without  his  roe,  like  a dried  herring  : — 
O flesh,  flesh,  how  art  thou  fishified  ! Now  is  he  for 
the  numbers  that  Petrarch  flowed  in : Laura,  to  his 
lady,  was  but  a kitchen-wench ; — marry,  she  had 
a better  love  to  be-rhyme  her ; Dido,  a dowdy ; 
Cleopatra,  a gipsy ; Helen  and  Hero,  hildings  and 
harlots ; Thisbe,  a grey  eye  or  so,  but  not  to  the 


ACT  III.  SCENE  II. 


37 


purpose.  Signior  Romeo,  bon  jour  ! there’s  a French 
salutation  to  your  French  slop.  You  gave  us  the 
counterfeit  fairly  last  night. 

Rom.  Good  morrow  to  you  both.  What  counter- 
feit did  I give  you  ? 

Mer.  The  slip,  sir,  the  slip  : can  you  not  conceive  ? 

Rom.  Pardon,  good  Mercutio,  my  business  was 
great ; and  in  such  a case  as  mine,  a man  may  strain 
courtesy. 


Enter  Nurse  and  Peter. 

Ben . Here’s  goodly  gear  ! 

Mer.  A sail,  a sail,  a sail ! 

Ben.  Two,  two  ; a shirt  and  a — hem  ! 

Nurse.  Peter ! 

Peter.  Anon  ! 

Nurse.  My  fan,  Peter. 

Mer.  Pr’ythee  do,  good  Peter,  to  hide  her  face  ; 
for  her  fan’s  the  fairer  of  the  two. 

Nurse.  God  ye  good  morrow,  gentlemen. 

Mer.  God  ye  good  den,  fair  gentlewoman. 

Nurse.  God  den — gentlemen,  can  any  of  you  tell 
me  where  I may  find  the  young  Romeo  ? 

Rom.  I can  tell  you  ; but  young  Romeo  will  be 
older  when  you  have  found  him  than  he  was  when 
you  sought  him  ; I am  the  youngest  of  that  name 
for  fault  of  a worse. 

Nurse.  If  you  be  he,  sir,  I desire  some  confidence 
with  you. 

Mer.  She  will  indite  him  to  some  supper.  Romeo, 
will  you  come  to  your  father’s  ? we’ll  to  dinner 
thither. 

Rom.  I will  follow  you. 

Mer.  Farewell,  ancient  lady  ; farewell,  lady,  lady, 
lady.  Give  me  my  fan,  Peter  ! 

[. Exeunt  Mercutio  and  Benvolio. 

Nurse.  Marry,  farewell ! — I pray  you,  sir,  what 


38  ROMEO  AND  JULIET . 

saucy  merchant  was  this,  that  was  so  full  of  his 
ropery  ? 

Rom.  A gentleman,  nurse,  that  loves  to  hear  him- 
self talk,  and  will  speak  more  in  a minute,  than  he 
will  stand  to  in  a month. 

Nurse.  An  a’  speak  anything  against  me,  I’ll  take 
him  down  than  a’  were  lustier  than  he  is,  and  twenty 
such  Jacks  ; and,  if  I cannot,  I’ll  find  those  that 
shall.  Scurvy  knave  ! I am  none  of  his  flirt-gills  ; 
I am  none  of  his  skains-mates.  And  thou  must 
stand  by,  too,  and  suffer  every  knave  to  use  me  at 
his  pleasure. 

Peter.  I saw  no  man  use  you  at  his  pleasure ; if  I 
had,  my  weapon  should  quickly  have  been  out,  I 
warrant  you  : I dare  draw  as  soon  as  another  man, 
if  I see  occasion  in  a good  quarrel,  and  the  law  on 
my  side. 

Nurse.  Now,  afore  God,  I am  so  vexed  that  every 
part  about  me  quivers.  Scurvy  knave  ! Pray  you, 
sir,  a word  : and  as  I told  you,  my  young  lady  bade 
me  inquire  you  out ; what  she  bade  me  say  I will 
keep  to  myself : but  first  let  me  tell  ye,  if  ye  should 
lead  her  into  a fool’s  paradise,  as  they  say,  it  were  a 
gross  kind  of  behaviour,  as  they  say  : for  the  gentle- 
woman is  young ; and,  therefore,  if  you  should  deal 
double  with  her,  truly,  it  were  an  ill  thing  to  be 
offered  to  any  gentlewoman,  and  very  weak  dealing. 

Rom.  Nurse,  commend  me  to  thy  lady  and 
mistress. 

I protest  unto  thee. — 

Nurse.  Good  heart ! and,  i’faith,  I will  tell  her  as 
much  : Lord,  lord,  she  will  be  a joyful  woman. 

Rom.  What  wilt  thou  tell  her,  nurse  ? thou  dost 
not  mark  me. 

Nurse.  I will  tell  her,  sir — that  you  do  protest ; 
which,  as  I take  it,  is  a gentlemanlike  offer. 

Rom.  Bid  her  devise  some  means  to  come  to 
shrift 

This  afternoon ; 


ACT  III.  SCENE  III. 


39 


And  there  she  shall,  at  Friar  Laurence’  cell 
Be  shrived  and  married.  Here  is  for  thy  pains. 
Nurse.  No,  truly,  sir  ; not  a penny. 

Rom.  Go  to  ; I say,  you  shall. 

Nurse.  This  afternoon,  sir  ? well,  she  shall  be 
there. 

Rom . And  stay,  good  nurse,  behind  the  abbey 
wall, 

Within  this  hour  my  man  shall  be  with  thee, 

And  bring  thee  cords  made  like  a tackled  stair  ; 
Which  to  the  high  top-gallant  of  my  joy 
Must  be  my  convoy  in  the  secret  night. 

Farewell ! — Be  trusty,  and  I’ll  quit  thy  pains. 
Farewell ! — Commend  me  to  thy  mistress. 

Commend  me  to  thy  lady.  [Exit. 

Nurse.  Ay,  a thousand  times — Peter  ! 

Peter.  Anon  ! 

Nurse.  Peter,  take  my  fan.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  3.  Cafiulet’s  Garden. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Juliet. 

clock  struck  nine  when  I did  send  the 
nurse  ; 

half  an  hour  she  promised  to  return. 
Perchance  she  cannot  meet  him  : — that’s  not  so. — 
O,  she  is  lame  ! love’s  herald’s  should  be  thoughts, 
Which  ten  times  faster  glide  than  the  sun’s  beams, 
Driving  back  shadows  over  lowering  hills  : 

Therefore  do  nimble-pinion’d  doves  draw  love, 

And  therefore  hath  the  wind-swift  Cupid  wings. 

Now  is  the  sun  upon  the  highmost  hill 
Of  this  day’s  journey,  and  from  nine  till  twelve 


40 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Is  three  long  hours, — yet  she  is  not  come. 

Had  she  affections  and  warm  youthful  blood, 

She’d  be  as  swift  in  motion  as  a ball ; 

My  words  would  bandy  her  to  my  sweet  love, 

And  his  to  me. 

Enter  Nurse  and  Peter. 

O God,  she  comes  !— O honey  nurse,  what  news  ? 
Hast  thou  met  with  him  ? Send  thy  man  away. 
Nurse.  Peter,  Peter  !— stay  at  the  gate. 

[Exit  Peter. 

Jul.  Now,  good,  sweet  nurse. — O lord ! why  look’st 
thou  sad  ? 

Nurse.  I am  aweary,  give  me  leave  awhile ; — 

Fy,  how  my  bones  ache  ! What  a jaunt  have  I had  ! 
Jul.  I would  thou  hadst  my  bones,  and  I thy  news  : 
Nurse.  What  haste  ! can  you  not  stay  awhile  ? 

Do  you  not  see  that  I am  out  of  breath  ? 

Jul.  How  art  thou  out  of  breath,  when  thou  hast 
breath 

To  say  to  me  that  thou  art  out  of  breath  ? 

The  excuse  that  thou  dost  make  in  this  delay, 

Is  longer  than  the  tale  thou  dost  excuse. 

Is  thy  news  good  or  bad,  answer  to  that ; 

Say  either,  and  I’ll  stay  the  circumstance  : 

Let  me  be  satisfied,  Is’t  good  or  bad  ? 

Nurse.  Well,  you  have  made  a simple  choice  ; you 
know  not  how  to  choose  a man.  What,  have  you 
dined  at  home  ? 

Jul.  No,  no. 

What  says  he  of  our  marriage  ? what  of  that  ? 

Nurse.  Lord,  how  my  head  aches  ! what  a head 
have  I ! 

It  beats  as  if  it  would  fall  in  twenty  pieces. 

My  back  o’  t’other  side. — O,  my  back,  my  back  ! — 
Beshrew  your  heart,  for  sending  me  about, 

To  catch  my  death  with  jaunting  up  and  down  ! 

Jul . I’  faith,  I’m  sorry  that  thou  art  not  well  : 


ACT  III.  SCENE  IV. 


4i 

Sweet,  sweet,  sweet  nurse,  tell  me  what  says  my  love  ? 

Nurse.  Your  love  says  like  an  honest  gentleman, 
And  a courteous,  and  a kind,  and  a handsome, 

And,  I warrant,  a virtuous  : — Where  is  your  mother  ? 

Jul.  Where  is  my  mother  ? — Why,  she  is  within  ; 
Where  should  she  be  ? How  oddly  thou  repliest  ? 
Your  love  says  like  an  honest  gentleman , — 

Where  is  your  mother  ? 

Nurse.  O,  God’s  lady  dear  ? 

Are  you  so  hot  ? Marry,  come  up,  I trow. 

Is  this  the  poultice  for  my  aching  bones  ? 
Henceforward  do  your  messages  yourself. 

Jul.  Here’s  such  a coil ; — Come,  what  says  Romeo? 
Nurse.  Have  you  got  leave  to  go  to  shrift  to-day  ? 
Jul.  I have. 

Nurse.  Then  hie  you  hence  to  Friar  Laurence’  cell. 
There  stays  a husband  to  make  you  a wife  : 

Now  comes  the  wanton  blood  up  in  your  cheeks, 
They’ll  be  at  scarlet  straight  at  any  news. 

Hie  you  to  church  ; 

Go,  I’ll  to  dinner  ; hie  you  to  the  cell. 

Jul.  Hie  to  high  fortune !— honest  nurse,  farewell. 


Scene  4.  A Chapel  adjacent  to  the  Monastery. 
Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo. 


Friar. 

O smile  the  heavens  upon  this  holy  act, 

That  after-hours  with  sorrow  chide  us  not ! 
Rom.  Amen,  amen  ! but  come  what  sorrow 
can, 


It  cannot  countervail  the  exchange  of  joy, 
That  one  short  minute  gives  me  in  her  sight : 
Do  thou  but  close  our  hands  with  holy  words, 


42 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Then  love-devouring  death  do  what  he  dare, 

It  is  enough  I may  but  call  her  mine. 

Fri.  These  violent  delights  have  violent  ends, 

And  in  their  triumph  die  ; like  fire  and  powder, 
Which,  as  they  kiss,  consume.  The  sweetest  honey 
Is  loathsome  in  his  own  deliciousness, 

And  in  the  taste  confounds  the  appetite : 

Therefore,  love  moderately. 


Enter  Juliet. 

Here  comes  the  lady ; O,  so  light  a foot 
Will  ne’er  wear  out  the  everlasting  flint : 

Jul.  Good  even  to  my  ghostly  confessor. 

Fri . Romeo  shall  thank  thee,  daughter,  for  us  both. 
Jul.  As  much  to  him,  else. are  his  thanks  too  much. 
Rom.  Ah,  Juliet!  if  the  measure  of  thy  joy 
Be  heap’d  like  mine,  and  that  thy  skill  be  more 
To  blazon  it,  then  sweeten  with  thy  breath 
This  neighbour  air,  and  let  rich  music’s  tongue 
Unfold  th’  imagin’d  happiness  that  both 
Receive  in  either  by  this  dear  encounter. 

Jul.  Conceit,  more  rich  in  matter  than  in  words, 
Brags  of  his  substance,  not  of  ornament : 

They  are  but  beggars  that  can  count  their  worth  ; 
But  my  true  love  is  grown  to  such  excess, 

I cannot  sum  up  half  my  sum  of  wealth. 

Fri . Come,  come  with  me,  and  we  will  makes  short 
work ; 

For,  by  your  leaves,  you  shall  not  stay  alone, 

Till  holy  church  incorporate  two  in  one.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  i.  Piazza  Dante , at  Verona. 

Enter  Mercutio,  Benvolio,  Page  and  Servants. 
Benvolio. 

PRAY  thee,  good  Mercutio,  let’s  retire ; 
The  day  is  hot,  the  Capulets  abroad, 
And,  if  we  meet,  we  shall  not  ’scape  a 
brawl ; 

For  now,  these  hot  days,  is  the  mad  blood  stirring. 

Mer.  Thou  art  like  one  of  those  fellows  that,  when 
he  enters  the  confines  of  a tavern,  claps  me  his  sword 
upon  the  table,  and  says,  God  send  me  no  need  of  thee ! 
and,  by  the  operation  of  the  second  cup,  draws  it  on 
the  drawer,  when,  indeed,  there  is  no  need. 

Ben.  Am  I like  such  a fellow  ? 

Mer.  Come,  come,  thou  art  as  hot  a Jack  in  thy 
mood  as  any  in  Italy ; an  there  were  two  such  we 
should  have  none  shortly,  for  one  would  kill  the  other. 
Thou  ! why  thou  wilt  quarrel  with  a man  that  hath  a 
hair  more,  or  a hair  less,  in  his  beard,  than  thou  hast. 
Thou  wilt  quarrel  with  a man  for  cracking  nuts, 
having  no  other  reason  but  because  thou  hast  hazel 
eyes.  Thy  head  is  as  full  of  quarrels  as  an  egg  is 
full  of  meat.  Thou  hast  quarrelled  with  a man  for 
coughing  in  the  street,  because  he  hath  wakened  thy 
dog  that  hath  lain  asleep  in  the  sun.  Didst  thou  not 
fall  out  with  a tailor  for  wearing  his  new  doublet 
before  Easter  ? with  another,  for  tying  his  new  shoes 


44 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

with  old  riband  ? and  yet  thou  wilt  tutor  me  from 
quarrelling ! 

Ben.  An  I were  apt  to  quarrel  as  thou  art,  any  man 
should  buy  the  fee-simple  of  my  life  for  an  hour  and 
a quarter. 

Mer.  The  fee-simple  ! 0 simple  ! 


Enter  Tybalt  and  others. 

Ben.  By  my  head,  here  come  the  Capulets ! 

Mer.  By  my  heel,  I care  not. 

Tyb.  Follow  me  close,  for  I will  speak  to  them. — 
Gentlemen,  good  den : a word  with  one  of  you. 

Mer.  And  but  one  word  with  one  of  us  ? Couple 
it  with  something  ; make  it  a word  and  a blow. 

Tyb.  You  will  find  me  apt  enough  to  that,  sir,  if 
you  will  give  me  occasion. 

Mer.  Could  you  not  take  some  occasion  without 
giving  ? 

Tyb.  Mercutio,  thou  consort’st  with  Romeo — 

Mer.  Consort ! what,  dost  thou  make  us  minstrels? 
an  thou  make  minstrels  of  us,  look  to  hear  nothing 
but  discords  : here’s  my  fiddlestick  ; here’s  that 
shall  make  you  dance.  Zounds,  consort ! 

Ben.  We  talk  here  in  the  public  haunt  of  men : 
Either  withdraw  into  some  private  place, 

And  reason  coldly  of  your  grievances. 

Or  else  depart ; here  all  eyes  gaze  on  us. 

Mer.  Men’s  eyes  were  made  to  look,  and  let  them 
gaze 

I will  not  budge  for  no  man’s  pleasure,  I. 

Enter  Romeo. 

Tyb.  Well,  peace  be  with  you,  sir  ! here  comes 
my  man. 

Mer.  But  I’ll  be  hang’d,  sir,  if  he  wear  your  livery. 
Tyb.  Romeo,  the  hate  I bear  thee  can  afford 
No  better  term  than  this — Thou  art  a villain. 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  I. 


45 

Rom.  Tybalt,  the  reason  that  I have  to  love  thee 
Doth  much  excuse  the  appertaining  rage 
To  such  a greeting  ; — Villain  am  I none  ; 

Therefore,  farewell ; I see,  thou  know’st  me  not. 

Tyb.  Boy,  this  shall  not  excuse  the  injuries 
That  thou  hast  done  me ; therefore  turn  and  draw. 

Rom.  I do  protest  I never  injured  thee  ; 

But  love  thee  better  than  thou  canst  devise, 

Till  thou  shalt  know  the  reason  of  my  love : 

And  so,  good  Capulet — which  name  I tender 
As  dearly  as  mine  own — be  satisfied. 

Mer.  O calm,  dishonourable,  vile  submission  ! 

A la  stocatta  carries  it  away — [Draws. 

Tybalt,  you  rat-catcher,  will  you  walk  ? 

Tyb.  What  would’st  thou  have  with  me  ? 

Mer.  Good  king  of  cats,  nothing,  but  one  of  your 
nine  lives  ; that  I mean  to  make  bold  withal,  and  as 
you  shall  use  me  hereafter,  dry-beat  the  rest  of  the 
eight.  Will  you  pluck  your  sword  out  of  his  pilcher 
by  the  ears  ? make  haste,  lest  mine  be  about  your 
ears  ere  it  be  out. 

Tyb.  I am  for  you.  [Drawing. 

Rom.  Gentle  Mercutio,  put  thy  rapier  up. 

Mer.  Come,  sir,  your  passado.  [They  fight. 

Rom.  Draw,  Benvolio ; 

Beat  down  their  weapons  : — Gentlemen,  for  shame, 
Forbear  this  outrage  : — Tybalt — Mercutio — 

The  prince  expressly  hath  forbid  this  bandying 
In  Verona  streets  : — hold,  Tybalt. — good  Mercutio  ! 

[Exeunt  Tybalt  and  his  Partisans. 
Mer.  I am  hurt : — 

A plague  o’  both  your  houses  ! — I am  sped  : — 

Is  he  gone,  and  hath  nothing  ? 

Ben.  What,  art  thou  hurt  ? 

Mer.  Ay,  ay,  a scratch,  a scratch ; marry,  ’tis 
enough, — 

Where  is  my  page  ? — Go,  villain,  fetch  a surgeon. 

[Exit  Page. 

Rom.  Courage,  man,  the  hurt  cannot  be  much. 


46 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Mer.  No,  ’tis  not  so  deep  as  a well,  nor  so  wide  as 
a church-door ; but  ’tis  enough,  ’twill  serve  : ask  for 
me  to-morrow,  and  you  shall  find  me  a grave  man. 
I am  peppered,  I warrant,  for  this  world : — A plague 
o’  both  your  houses  ! — Zounds,  a dog,  a rat,  a mouse, 
a cat,  to  scratch  a man  to  death  ! a braggart,  a rogue, 
a villain,  that  fights  by  the  book  of  arithmetic ! — 
Why  the  devil  came  you  between  us  ? I was  hurt 
under  your  arm. 

Rom.  I thought  all  for  the  best. 

Mer.  Help  me  into  some  house,  Benvolio, 

Or  I shall  faint. — A plague  o’  both  your  houses ! 
They  have  made  worm’s  meat  of  me ; 

I have  it,  and  soundly  too  : — Your  houses  ! 

[Exeunt  Mercutio  and  Benvolio- 
Rom.  This  gentleman,  the  prince’s  near  ally, 

My  very  friend,  hath  got  his  mortal  hurt 
In  my  behalf  ;•  my  reputation  stain’d 
With  Tybalt’s  slander — Tybalt,  that  an  hour 
Hath  been  my  kinsman  : — O,  sweet  Juliet, 

Thy  beauty  hath  made  me  effeminate, 

And  in  my  temper  soften’d  valour’s  steel. 

Re-enter  Benvolio. 

Ben.  O,  Romeo,  Romeo,  brave  Mercutio’s  dead ! 
That  gallant  spirit  hath  aspired  the  clouds, 

Which  too  untimely  here  did  scorn  the  earth. 

Rom.  This  day’s  black  fate  on  more  days  doth 
depend : 

This  but  begins  the  woe,  others  must  end. 

Re-enter  Tybalt. 

Ben.  Here  comes  the  furious  Tybalt  back  again. 
Rom.  Alive  ! in  triumph  ! and  Mercutio  slain  ! 
Away  to  heaven,  respective  lenity, 

And  fire-eyed  fury  be  my  conduct  now ! 

Now,  Tybalt,  take  the  villain  back  again, 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  II. 


47 


That  late  thou  gavest  me ; for  Mercutio’s  soul 
Is  but  a little  way  above  our  heads, 

Staying  for  thine  to  keep  him  company ; 

Either  thou,  or  I,  or  both,  must  go  with  him. 

Tyb.  Thou  wretched  boy,  that  didst  consort  him 
here, 

Shalt  with  him  hence. 

Rom.  This  shall  determine  that. 

[They  fight,  Tybalt  falls. 
Ben.  Romeo,  away — be  gone  ! 

The  citizens  are  up,  and  Tybalt  slain : — 

Stand  not  amazed  : — the  prince  will  doom  thee  death, 
If  thou  art  taken, — hence  ! — be  gone  ! — away  ! 

Rom.  O ! I am  fortune’s  fool ! 

Enter  Citizens  and  Guards  in  pursuit,  and  exeunt. 


Scene  2.  A Room  in  Capulefs  House. 

Enter  Juliet. 

Juliet. 

ALLOP  apace,  you  fiery-footed  steeds, 
Towards  Phoebus’  mansion  ; such  a waggoner 
As  Phaeton  would  whip  you  to  the  west, 

And  bring  in  cloudy  night  immediately. 

Spread  thy  close  curtain,  love-performing  night ! 
That  run-away’s  eyes  may  wink ; and  Romeo 
Leap  to  these  arms,  untalk’d  of,  aud  unseen  ! 

Come,  gentle  night ; come,  loving,  black-brow’d  night, 
Give  me  my  Romeo  : and,  when  he  shall  die, 

Take  him,  and  cut  him  out  in  little  stars, 

And  he  will  make  the  face  of  heaven  so  fine, 

That  all  the  world  will  be  in  love  with  night, 

And  pay  no  worship  to  the  garish  sun. 


48 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


O,  I have  bought  the  mansion  of  a love, 

But  not  possess’d  it ; and  though  I am  sold, 

Not  yet  enjoy’d  : So  tedious  is  this  day, 

As  is  the  night  before  some  festival 

To  an  impatient  child,  that  hath  new  robes, 

And  may  not  wear  them.  O,  here  comes  my  nurse. 


Enter  Nurse,  with  cords. 

And  she  brings  news  ; and  every  tongue  that  speaks 
But  Romeo’s  name,  speaks  heavenly  eloquence. 
Now,  nurse,  what  news?  What  hast  thou  there? 
the  cords, 

That  Romeo  bade  thee  fetch  ? 

Nurse.  Ay,  ay,  the  cords. 

[Throws  them  down. 
Jul.  Ah  me ! what  news  ? why  dost  thou  wring 
thy  hands  ? 

Nurse.  Ah,  well-a-day  ! he’s  dead,  he’s  dead,  he’s 
dead  ! 

We  are  undone,  lady,  we  are  undone  ! — 

Alack  the  day  ! — he’s  gone,  he’s  killed,  he’s  dead  ! 
Jul.  Can  heaven  be  so  envious  ? 

Nurse.  Romeo  can, 

Though  heaven  cannot : — O Romeo,  Romeo  ! — 
Whoever  would  have  thought  it  ? — Romeo  ! 

Jul.  What  devil  art  thou,  that  dost  torment  me 
thus  ? 

Nurse.  I saw  the  wound,  I saw  it  with  mine  eyes, 
God  save  the  mark ! — here  on  his  manly  breast ; 

A piteous  corse,  a bloody  piteous  corse ; 

Pale,  pale  as  ashes,  all  bedaub’d  in  blood, 

All  in  gore  blood ; — I swoonded  at  the  sight. 

Jul.  O break  my  heart ! — poor  bankrupt,  break  at 
once ! 

To  prison,  eyes  ! ne’er  look  on  liberty  ! 

Vile  earth  to  earth  resign  ; end  motion  here  : 

And  thou  and  Romeo  press  one  heavy  bier ! 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  II. 


49 


Nurse.  O,  Tybalt,  Tybalt,  the  best  friend  I had ! 
That  ever  I should  live  to  see  thee  dead ! 

Jul.  What  storm  is  this,  that  blows  so  contrary  ? 
Is  Romeo  slaughter’d  ; and  is  Tybalt  dead  ? 

My  dear-loved  cousin,  and  my  dearer  lord  ? 

Then,  dreadful  trumpet,  sound  the  general  doom  ! 
For  who  is  living  if  those  two  are  gone  ? 

Nurse.  Tybalt  is  gone,  and  Romeo  banished ; 
Romeo  that  kill’d  him,  he  is  banished. 

Jul.  O God ! — did  Romeo’s  hand  shed  Tybalt’s 
blood  ? 

Nurse.  It  did,  it  did ; alas  the  day  ! it  did. 

Jul.  O nature  ! what  hadst  thou  to  do  in  hell, 
When  thou  didst  bower  the  spirit  of  a fiend 
In  mortal  paradise  of  such  sweet  flesh  ? 

O,  that  deceit  should  dwell 
In  such  a gorgeous  palace ! 

Nurse.  There’s  no  trust, 

No  faith,  no  honesty  in  men ; all  perjured, 

All  forsworn,  all  naught,  all  dissemblers. — 

Shame  come  to  Romeo  ! 

Jul.  Blister’d  be  thy  tongue, 

For  such  a wish  ! he  was  not  born  to  shame  : 

Upon  his  brow  shame  is  ashamed  to  sit ; 

For  ’tis  a throne  where  honour  may  be  crown’d 
Sole  monarch  of  the  universal  earth. 

O,  what  a beast  was  I to  chide  at  him ! 

Nurse.  Will  you  speak  well  of  him  that  killed  your 
cousin  ? 

Jul.  Shall  I speak  ill  of  him  that  is  my  husband  ? 
Ah,  poor  my  lord,  what  tongue  shall  smooth  thy 
name, 

When  I,  thy  three-hours’  wife,  have  mangled  it  ? 

My  husband  lives,  that  Tybalt  would  have  slain  ; 

And  Tybalt’s  dead,  that  would  have  slain  my  hus- 
band : 

All  this  is  comfort ; Wherefore  weep  I then  ? 

Some  words  there  was,  worser  than  Tybalt’s  death, 
That  murder’d  me : I would  forget  it  fain  ; 

P 


50 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


But,  0 ! it  presses  to  my  memory, 

Like  damned  guilty  deeds  to  sinners’  minds : 

Tybalt  is  dead,  and  Romeo — banished  ; 

That — banished,  that  one  word — banished, 

Hath  slain  ten  thousand  Tybalts. 

Romeo  is  banished, — no  words  can  that  woe  sound. — 
Where  is  my  father,  and  my  mother,  nurse  ? 

Nurse.  Weeping  and  wailing  over  Tybalt’s  corse  : 
Will  you  go  to  them  ? I will  bring  you  thither. 

Jul.  Wash  they  his  wounds  with  tears  ? mine  shall 
be  spent, 

When  theirs  are  dry,  for  Romeo’s  banishment. 

Take  up  those  cords : — Poor  ropes,  you  are  beguil’d, 
Both  you  and  I ; for  Romeo  is  exiled ! 

Nurse.  Hie  to  your  chamber:  I’ll  find  Romeo 
To  comfort  you  : — I wot  well  where  he  is. 

Hark  ye,  your  Romeo  will  be  here  at  night ; 

I’ll  to  him ; he  is  hid  at  Laurence’  cell. 

Jul.  O find  him  ! give  this  ring  to  my  true  knight, 
And  bid  him  come  to  take  his  last  farewell. 

[Exeunt. 


Scene  3.  Friar  Laurence's  cell. 


Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Romeo. 


Friar. 


OMEO,  come  forth  ; come  forth,  thou  fearful 
man ; 

Affliction  is  enamour’d  of  thy  parts, 

And  thou  art  wedded  to  calamity. 

Rom.  Father,  what  news?  what  is  the  prince’s 


doom  ? 

What  sorrow  craves  acquaintance  at  my  hand, 
That  I yet  know  not  ? 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  III. 


5i 


Fri.  Too  familiar 

Is  my  dear  son  with  such  sour  company : 

I bring  thee  tidings  of  the  prince’s  doom. 

Rom.  What  less  than  dooms-day  is  the  prince’s 
doom  ? 

Fri.  A gentler  judgment  vanish’d  from  his  lips, 
Not  body’s  death,  but  body’s  banishment. 

Rom.  Ha  ! banishment  ? be  merciful,  say — death  : 
For  exile  hath  more  terror  in  his  look 
Much  more  than  death  : do  not  say — banishment. 
Thou  cut’st  my  head  off  with  a golden  axe, 

And  smilest  upon  the  stroke  that  murders  me. 

Fri.  O deadly  sin  ! O rude  unthankfulness  ! 

Thy  fault  our  law  calls  death ; but  the  kind  prince, 
Taking  thy  part,  hath  rush’d  aside  the  law, 

And  turn’d  that  black  word  death  to  banishment : 
This  is  dear  mercy,  and  thou  seest  it  not. 

Rom.  ’Tis  torture,  and  not  mercy:  heaven  is  here 
Where  Juliet  lives  : they  may  seize 
On  the  white  wonder  of  dear  Juliet’s  hand, 

And  steal  immortal  blessing  from  her  lips, 

But  Romeo  may  not — he  is  banished. 

O friar,  the  damned  use  that  word  in  hell ; 

Howlings  attend  it : How  hast  thou  the  heart, 

Being  a divine,  a ghostly  confessor, 

A sin-absolver,  and  a friend  confess’d, 

To  mangle  me  with  that  word — banishment  ? 

Fri.  I’ll  give  thee  armour  to  keep  off  that  word  ; 
Adversity’s  sweet  milk,  philosophy. 

Rom.  Hang  up  philosophy  ! 

Unless  philosophy  can  make  a Juliet ; 

Displant  a town,  reverse  a prince’s  doom ; 

Fri.  Let  me  dispute  with  thee  of  thy  estate. 

Rom.  Thou  canst  not  speak  of  what  thou  dost  not 
feel: 

Wert  thou  as  young  as  I,  Juliet  thy  love, 

An  hour  but  married,  Tybalt  murdered, 

Doting  like  me,  and  like  me  banished, 

D 2 


52  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

Then  mightst  thou  speak,  then  mightst  thou  tear  thy 
hair, 

And  fall  upon  the  ground,  as  I do  now, 

Taking  the  measure  of  an  unmade  grave. 

Fri.  Arise ; one  knocks : good  Romeo,  hide  thy- 
self. [. Knocking  within. 

Rom.  Not  I ; unless  the  breath  of  heart-sick  groans, 
Mist-like,  infold  me  from  the  search  of  eyes. 

[Knocking. 

Fri.  Who’s  there  ? — Romeo,  arise  ; 

Thou  wilt  be  taken  : — Stay  a while  : — stand  up  : 

[Knocking. 

Run  to  my  study  : — By  and  by  : — God’s  will ! 

What  wilfulness  is  this  ? — I come,  I come. 

[Knocking. 

Who  knocks  so  hard  ? whence  come  you  ? what’s 
your  will  ? 

Nurse.  [Without.]  Let  me  come  in  and  you  shall 
know  my  errand  ; 

I come  from  lady  Juliet. 

Fri.  Welcome  then. 


Enter  Nurse. 

Nurse.  O holy  friar,  O,  tell  me,  holy  friar, 

Where  is  my  lady’s  lord,  where’s  Romeo  ? 

Fri.  There  on  the  ground,  with  his  own  tears 
made  drunk. 

Nurse.  O,  he  is  even  in  my  mistress’  case, 

Just  in  her  case  ! 

Stand  up,  stand  up  ; stand,  an  you  be  a man  : 

For  Juliet’s  sake,  for  her  sake,  rise  and  stand  ; 

Rom.  Nurse  ! 

Nurse.  Ah  sir  ! ah  sir  ! — Well,  death’s  the  end  of 
all. 

Rom.  Speakest  thou  of  Juliet  ? 

Where  is  she  ? and  how  doth  she  ? and  what  says 
she? 

Nurse.  O,  she  says  nothing,  sir,  but  weeps  and 
weeps  ; 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  III. 


53 


And  now  falls  on  her  bed  ; and  then  starts  up, 

And  Tybalt  calls  ; and  then  on  Romeo  cries, 

And  then  down  falls  again. 

Rom.  As  if  that  name, 

Shot  from  the  deadly  level  of  a gun, 

Did  murder  her  ; as  that  name’s  cursed  hand 
Murder’d  her  kinsman. — O tell  me,  friar,  tell  me, 

In  what  vile  part  of  this  anatomy 

Doth  my  name  lodge?  tell  me,  that  I may  sack 

The  hateful  mansion.  [. Drawing  his  sword. 

Fri.  Hold  thy  desperate  hand  : 

Art  thou  a man  ? thy  form  cries  out,  thou  art ; 

Thy  tears  are  womanish  ; thy  wild  acts  denote 
The  unreasonable  fury  of  a beast : 

By  my  holy  order, 

I thought  thy  disposition  better  temper’d. 

Hast  thou  slain  Tybalt  ? wilt  thou  slay  thyself  ? 

And  slay  thy  lady  too  that  lives  in  thee, 

By  doing  damned  hate  upon  thyself  ? 

What,  rouse  thee,  man  ! thy  Juliet  is  alive, 

Go,  get  thee  to  thy  love,  as  was  decreed, 

Ascend  her  chamber,  hence  and  comfort  her; 

But  look  thou  stay  not  till  the  watch  be  set, 

For  then  thou  canst  not  pass  to  Mantua; 

Where  thou  shalt  live,  till  we  can  find  a time 
To  blaze  your  marriage,  reconcile  your  friends, 

Beg  pardon  of  the  prince,  and  call  thee  back 
With  twenty  hundred  thousand  times  more  joy 
Than  thou  went’st  forth  in  lamentation. 

Go  before,  nurse  : commend  me  to  thy  lady. 

Nurse.  O Lord,  I could  have  staid  here  all  the 
night, 

To  hear  good  counsel : O,  what  learning  is  ! 

My  lord,  I’ll  tell  my  lady  you  will  come. 

Rom.  Do  so,  and  bid  my  sweet  prepare  to  chide. 
Nurse.  Here,  sir,  a ring  she  bade  me  give  you,  sir: 
Hie  you,  make  haste,  for  it  grows  very  late. 

[Exit  Nurse. 

Rom.  How  well  my  comfort  is  revived  by  this  ! 


54 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Sojourn  in  Mantua  ; I’ll  find  out  your  man, 

And  he  shall  signify  from  time  to  time 
Every  good  hap  to  you,  that  chances  here  : 

Give  me  thy  hand  : ’tis  late  : farewell : good  night. 

Rom . But  that  a joy  past  joy  calls  out  on  me  : 

It  were  a grief,  so  brief  to  part  with  thee  : 

Farewell.  [ Exeunt . 


Scene  4.  Juliet's  Chamber  and  Balcony. 

Enter  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

Juliet. 

ILT  thou  be  gone  ? it  is  not  yet  near  day  : 

It  was  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark, 
That  pierced  the  fearful  hollow  of  thine  ear : 
Nightly  she  sings  on  yon  pomegranate  tree  : 

Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightingale. 

Rom.  It  was  the  lark,  the  herald  of  the  morn, 

No  nightingale  : look,  love,  what  envious  streaks 
Do  lace  the  severing  clouds  in  yonder  east  : 

Night’s  candles  are  burnt  out,  and  jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain  tops  ; 

I must  be  gone  and  live,  or  stay  and  die. 

Jul.  Yon  light  is  not  day-light,  I know  it,  I ; 

It  is  some  meteor  that  the  sun  exhales, 

To  be  to  thee  this  night  a torch-bearer, 

And  light  thee  on  thy  way  to  Mantua  : 

Therefore  stay  yet,  thou  need’st  not  be  gone. 

Rom.  Let  me  be  ta’en,  let  me  be  put  to  death  ; 

I am  content,  so  thou  wilt  have  it  so. 

I’ll  say,  yon  grey  is  not  the  morning’s  eye, 

’Tis  but  the  pale  reflex  of  Cynthia’s  brow; 

Nor  that  is  not  the  lark,  whose  notes  do  beat 
The  vaulty  heaven  so  high  above  our  heads : 

Come,  death,  and  welcome ! Juliet  wills  it  so. 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  IV. 


55 


How  is’t,  my  soul  ? let’s  talk,  it  is  not  day. 

Jul.  It  is,  it  is,  hie  hence,  be  gone,  away  ; 

It  is  the  lark  that  sings  so  out  of  tune. 

O,  now  be  gone  ; more  light  and  light  it  grows. 

Rom.  More  light  and  light  ? — more  dark  and  dark 
our  woes. 


Enter  Nurse. 


Nurse.  Madam ! 

Jul.  Nurse! 

Nurse.  Your  lady  mother’s  coming  to  your  chamber ; 
Be  wtry,  look  about. 

[Exit  Nurse. 

Jul.  Then,  window,  let  day  in,  and  let  life  out. 

[Romeo  descends. 
Jul.  A:t  thou  gone  so  ? my  love ! my  lord ! my 
friend ! 

I must  heer  from  thee  every  day  i’  the  hour, 

For  in  a m'nute  there  are  many  days : 

O ! by  this  :ount  I shall  be  much  in  years, 

Ere  I again  behold  my  Romeo. 

Rom.  Farewell ! I will  omit  no  opportunity 
That  may  convey  my  greetings,  love,  to  thee. 

Jul.  O,  thnk’st  thou  we  shall  ever  meet  again  ? 
Rom.  I doibt  it  not ; and  all  these  woes  shall  serve 
For  sweet  discourses  in  our  time  to  come. 

Jul.  O God!  I have  an  ill-divining  soul, 

Methinks,  I set  thee,  now  thou  art  below, 

As  one  dead  in  the  bottom  of  a tomb  : 

Either  my  eyesght  fails,  or  thou  look’st  pale. 

Rom.  And  tnst  me,  love,  in  my  eye  so  do  you : 
Dry  sorrow  drinks  our  blood.  Adieu  ! adieu  ! 

[Exit  Romeo. 


56 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET ■ 


Scene  5.  Interior  of  Juliet's  Chamber. 


Lady  Capulet.  [Within.] 

dS*!0’  daughter • are  y°u  up  ? 

| pi  pj  Jul.  Who  is’t  that  calls  ? is  it  my  lady 
WiM  mother  ? 

Is  she  not  down  so  late  or  up  so  early  ? 

What  unaccustom’d  cause  procures  her  hither  ? 


Enter  Lady  Capulet. 

La.  Cap.  Why,  how  now,  Juliet? 

Jul.  Madam,  I am  n</t  well. 

La.  Cap.  Evermore  weeping  for  your  cousin’s  death, 
What,  wilt  thou  wash  him  from  his  grave  wilh  tears  ? 
But  much  of  grief  shews  still  some  want  of  Ait. 

Jul.  Yet  let  me  weep  for  such  a feeling  f>ss. 

La.  Cap.  Well,  girl,  thou  weep’st  not  s </  much  for 
his  death, 

As  that  the  villain  lives  which  slaughter’d/him. 

Jul.  What  villain,  madam  ? 

La.  Cap.  That  same  villain,  Romeo. 

Jul.  Villain  and  he  are  many  miles  astmder, 

God  pardon  him  ! I do,  with  all  my  heart ; 

And  yet  no  man,  like  he,  doth  grieve  ny  heart. 

La.  Cap.  That  is,  because  the  traitor  murderer 
lives. 

Jul.  Ay,  madam,  from  the  react  of  these  my 
hands, 

Would  none  but  I might  venge  my  cousin’s  death  ! 
La.  Cap.  We  will  have  vengence  for  it,  fear  thou 
not : 

But  now  I’ll  tell  thee  joyful  tidings,  girl. 

Jul.  And  joy  comes  well  in  such  i needful  time. 
What  are  they,  I beseech  your  ladyship  ? 

La  Cap.  Well,  well,  thou  hast  p.  careful  father, 
child : 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  V. 


57 


One  who,  to  put  thee  from  thy  heaviness, 

Hath  sorted  out  a sudden  day  of  joy, 

That  thou  expect’st  not,  nor  I look’d  not  for. 

Jul.  Madam,  in  happy  time,  what  day  is  that  ? 

La.  Cap.  Marry,  my  child,  early  next  Thursday 
morn, 

The  gallant,  young,  and  noble  gentleman, 

The  county  Paris,  at  Saint  Peter’s  Church, 

Shall  happily  make  thee  there  a joyful  bride. 

Jul.  Now,  by  Saint  Peter’s  Church, 

He  shall  not  make  me  there  a joyful  bride. 

I wonder  at  this  haste ; that  I must  wed 
Ere  he,  that  should  be  husband,  comes  to  woo. 

I pray  you,  tell  my  lord  and  father,  madam, 

I will  not  marry  yet ; and,  when  I do,  I swear, 

It  shall  be  Romeo,  whom  you  know  I hate, 

Rather  than  Paris : — These  are  news  indeed. 

La.  Cap.  Here  comes  your  father ; tell  him  so 
yourself, 

And  see  how  he  will  take  it  at  your  hands. 

Enter  Capulet  and  Nurse. 

Cap.  How  now,  wife  ? 

Have  you  delivered  to  her  our  decree  ? 

La.  Cap.  Ay,  sir ; but  she  will  none,  she  gives  you 
thanks. 

I would  the  fool  were  married  to  her  grave ! 

Cap.  Soft,  take  me  with  you,  take  me  with  you, 
wife. 

How ! will  she  none  ? doth  she  not  give  us  thanks  ? 
Is  she  not  proud  ? doth  she  not  count  her  bless’d, 
Unworthy  as  she  is,  that  we  have  wrought 
So  worthy  a gentleman  to  be  her  bridegroom  ? 

Jul.  Not  proud  you  have;  but  thankful  that  you 
have : 

Proud  can  I never  be  of  what  I hate ; 

But  thankful  even  for  hate,  that  is  meant  love. 

Cap.  Mistress  minion,  you, 

Thank  me  no  thankings,  nor  proud  me  no  prouds, 


58 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


But  settle  your  fine  joints  ’gainst  Thursday  next, 

To  go  with  Paris  to  Saint  Peter’s  Church, 

Or  I will  drag  thee  on  a hurdle  thither. 

Hang  thee,  young  baggage  ! disobedient  wretch  ! 

I tell  thee  what, — get  thee  to  church  o’Thursday, 

Or  never  after  look  me  in  the  face. 

Speak  not,  reply  not,  do  not  answer  me ; — 

We  scarcely  thought  us  blest, 

That  God  hath  sent  us  but  this  only  child ; 

But  now  I see  this  one  is  one  too  much, 

And  that  we  have  a curse  in  having  her : 

Out  on  her  hilding  ! 

Nurse.  Heaven  bless  her  ! 

Cap.  God’s  bread  ! it  makes  me  mad : Day,  night, 
late,  early, 

At  home,  abroad,  alone,  in  company, 

Waking  or  sleeping,  still  my  care  hath  been 
To  have  her  match’d  : and  having  now  provided 
A gentleman  of  princely  parentage, 

Of  fair  desmesnes,  youthful,  and  nobly  train’d, 
Proportion’d  as  one’s  heart  could  wish  a man, — 

And  then  to  have  a wretched  puling  fool, 

A whining  mammet,  in  her  fortune’s  tender, 

To  answer — I’ll  not  wed, — I cannot  love, 

I am  too  young , — I pray  you,  pardon  me  ; 

But,  an  you  will  not  wed,  I’ll  pardon  you : 

Look  to’t,  think  on’t,  I do  not  use  to  jest. 

Thursday  is  near ; lay  hand  on  heart,  advise  : 

An  you  be  mine,  I’ll  give  you  to  my  friend  ; 

An  you  be  not,  hang,  beg,  starve,  die  i’  the  streets, 
For,  by  my  soul,  I’ll  ne’er  acknowledge  thee. 

[Exit. 

Jul.  Is  there  no  pity  sitting  in  the  clouds, 

That  sees  into  the  bottom  of  my  grief  ? 

O,  sweet  my  mother,  cast  me  not  away  ! 

Delay  this  marriage  for  a month,  a week ; 

Or,  if  you  do  not,  make  the  bridal  bed 
In  that  dim  monument  where  Tybalt  lies. 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  V. 


59 


La.  Cap.  Talk  not  to  me,  for  I’ll  not  speak  a word  ; 
Do  as  thou  wilt,  for  I have  done  with  thee.  [Exit. 
Jul.  O God ! — O nurse ! how  shall  this  be  pre- 
vented ? 

My  husband  is  on  earth,  my  faith  in  heaven ; 

Alack,  alack,  that  heaven  should  practise  stratagems 
Upon  so  soft  a subject  as  myself! — 

What  sayst  thou  ? hast  thou  not  a word  of  joy  ? 
Some  comfort,  nurse. 

Nurse.  ’Faith,  here  ’tis  : Romeo 

Is  banish’d ; and  all  the  world  to  nothing, 

That  he  dares  ne’er  come  back  to  challenge  you ; 

Or,  if  he  do,  it  needs  must  be  by  stealth. 

Then,  since  the  case  so  stands  as  now  it  doth, 

I think  it  best  you  married  with  the  county. 

O,  he’s  a lovely  gentleman  ! Romeo’s  a dishclout  to 
him ; 

Beshrew  my  very  heart, 

I think  you  are  happy  in  this  second  match, 

For  it  excels  your  first:  or  if  it  did  not, 

Your  first  is  dead ; or  ’twere  as  good  he  were, 

As  living  here  and  you  no  use  of  him. 

Jul.  Speakest  thou  from  thy  heart  ? 

Nurse.  From  my  soul  too  ; 

Or  else  beshrew  them  both. 

Jul.  Amen ! 

Nurse.  To  what  ? 

Jul.  Well,  thou  hast  comforted  me  marvellous 
much, 

Go  in ; and  tell  my  lady  I am  gone, 

Having  displeased  my  father,  to  Laurence’  cell, 

To  make  confession,  and  be  absolved. 

Nurse.  Marry,  I will ; and  this  is  wisely  done. 

[Exit. 

Jul.  O most  wicked  fiend  ! 

Is  it  more  sin — to  wish  me  thus  forsworn, 

Or  to  dispraise  my  lord  with  that  same  tongue 
Which  she  hath  praised  him  with  above  compare 


6o 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET 


So  many  thousand  times  ? — Go,  counsellor ; 

Thou  and  my  bosom  henceforth  shall  be  twain. 

I’ll  to  the  friar,  to  know  his  remedy  ; 

If  all  else  fail,  myself  have  power  to  die.  [Exit. 


Scene  6.  Friar  Laurence’s  Cell. 

Enter  Friar  Laurence  and  Paris. 

Friar. 

Thursday,  sir  ? the  time  is  very  short. 

Par.  My  father  Capulet  will  have  it  so ; 
md  I am  nothing  slow  to  slack  his  haste. 
Fri.  You  say  you  do  not  know  the  lady’s  mind : 
Uneven  is  the  course,  I like  it  not. 

Par.  Immoderately  she  weeps  for  Tybalt’s  death, 
And  therefore  have  I little  talk’d  of  love ; 

For  Venus  smiles  not  in  a house  of  tears. 

Now,  sir,  her  father  counts  it  dangerous, 

That  she  doth  give  her  sorrow  so  much  sway ; 

And  in  his  wisdom  hastes  our  marriage, 

To  stop  the  inundation  of  her  tears ; 

Now  do  you  know  the  reason  of  this  haste. 

Fri.  I would  I knew  not  why  it  should  be  slow’d. 

[Aside. 

Look,  sir,  here  comes  the  lady  towards  my  cell. 
Enter  Juliet. 

Par.  Happily  met,  my  lady,  and  my  wife  ! 

Jul.  That  may  be,  sir,  when  I may  be  a wife. 

Par.  That  may  be,  must  be,  love,  on  Thursday 
next. 

Jul.  What  must  be,  shall  be. 

Fri.  That’s  a certain  text. 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  VI. 


61 


Par.  Come  you  to  make  confession  to  this  father  ? 
Jul.  To  answer  that,  were  to  confess  to  you. 

Are  you  at  leisure,  holy  father,  now  ; 

Or  shall  I come  to  you  at  evening  mass  ? 

Fri.  My  leisure  serves  me,  pensive  daughter,  now. — 
My  lord,  we  must  entreat  the  time  alone. 

Par.  God  shield,  I should  disturb  devotion  ! — 
Juliet,  on  Thursday,  early  will  I rouse  you : 

Till  then,  adieu  ! and  keep  this  holy  kiss.  [Exit. 
Jul.  O,  shut  the  door ! and  when  thou  hast  done 
so, 

Come  weep  with  me ; past  hope,  past  cure,  past 
help ! 

Fri.  Ah,  Juliet,  I already  know  thy  grief; 

It  strains  me  past  the  compass  of  my  wits ; 

I hear  thou  must,  and  nothing  may  prorogue  it, 

On  Thursday  next  be  married  to  this  county. 

Jul.  Tell  me  not,  friar,  that  thou  hear’st  of  this, 
Unless  thou  tell  me  how  I may  prevent  it. 

God  join’d  my  heart  and  Romeo’s,  thou  our  hands  ; 
And  ere  this  hand,  by  thee  to  Romeo  seal’d, 

Shall  be  the  label  to  another  deed, 

Or  my  true  heart  with  treacherous  revolt 
Turn  to  another,  this  shall  slay  them  both. 

Fri.  Hold,  daughter  ; I do  spy  a kind  of  hope, 
Which  craves  as  desperate  an  execution 
As  that  is  desperate  which  we  would  prevent, 

If,  rather  than  to  marry  county  Paris, 

Thou  hast  the  strength  of  will  to  slay  thyself ; 

Then  is  it  likely,  thou  wilt  undertake 
A thing  like  death  to  chide  away  this  shame. 

Jul.  O,  bid  me  leap,  rather  than  marry  Paris, 
From  off  the  battlements  of  yonder  tower  ; 

Chain  me  with  roaring  bears, 

Or  shut  me  nightly  in  a charnel-house, 

O’er-covered  quite  with  dead  men’s  rattling  bones,, 

Or  bid  me  go  into  a new-made  grave, 

And  hide  me  with  a dead  man  in  his  shroud  ; 

Things  that?  to  hear  them  told,  have  made  me  tremble  • 


62 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


And  I will  do  it  without  fear  or  doubt, 

To  live  an  unstain’d  wife  to  my  sweet  love. 

Fri.  Hold,  then  ; go  home,  be  merry,  give  consent 
To  marry  Paris  : Wednesday  is  to-morrow  ; 
To-morrow  night  look  that  thou  lie  alone, 

Let  not  thy  nurse  lie  with  thee  in  thy  chamber  : 

Take  thou  this  phial,  being  then  in  bed, 

And  this  distilled  liquor  drink  thou  off  : 

When,  presently,  through  all  thy  veins  shall  run 
A cold  and  drowsy  humour. 

The  roses  in  thy  lips  and  cheeks  shall  fade 
To  paly  ashes ; thy  eyes’  windows  fall, 

Like  death,  when  he  shuts  up  the  day  of  life. 

And  in  this  borrow’d  likeness  of  shrunk  death 
Thou  shalt  remain  full  two  and  forty  hours, 

And  then  awake  as  from  a pleasant  sleep. 

Now  when  the  bridegroom  in  the  morning  comes 
To  rouse  thee  from  thy  bed,  there  art  thou  dead  : 
Then,  (as  the  manner  of  our  country  is), 

In  thy  best  robes  uncover’d  on  the  bier, 

Thou  shalt  be  borne  to  that  same  ancient  vault, 
Where  all  the  kindred  of  the  Capulets  lie. 

In  the  mean  time,  against  thou  shalt  awake, 

Shall  Romeo  by  my  letters  know  our  drift ; 

And  hither  shall  he  come  : and  he  and  I 
Will  watch  thy  waking,  and  that  very  night 
Shall  Romeo  bear  thee  hence  to  Mantua. 

And  this  shall  free  thee  from  this  present  shame, 

If  no  unconstant  toy,  nor  womanish  fear — 

Jul-  Give  me,  O give  me  ! tell  me  not  of  fear. 

Fri.  Hold  ; get  you  gone,  be  strong  and  prosperous 
In  this  resolve  ; I’ll  send  a friar  with  speed 
To  Mantua,  with  my  letters  to  thy  lord. 

Jill.  Love  give  me  strength  ! and  strength  shall 
help  afford. 

Farewell,  dear  father  ! 


[Exeunt 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  VII. 


63 


Scene  7.  Juliet's  Chamber. 

Enter  Juliet  and  Nurse. 

Juliet. 

, those  attires  are  best : — But,  gentle  nurse, 

I pray  thee,  leave  me  to  myself  to-night ; 
For  I have  need  of  many  orisons 
To  move  the  heavens  to  smile  upon  my  state, 

Which,  well  thou  know’st,  is  cross  and  full  of  sin. 

Enter  Lady  Capulet. 

La.  Cap.  What,  are  you  busy  ? do  you  need  no 
help  ? 

Jul.  No,  madam  ! we  have  cull’d  such  necessaries 
As  are  behoved  for  our  state  to-morrow  ; 

So  please  you,  let  me  now  be  left  alone, 

And  let  the  nurse  this  night  sit  up  with  you  ; 

For,  I am  sure,  you  have  your  hands  full  all, 

In  this  so  sudden  business. 

La.  Cap.  Good  night ! 

Get  thee  to  bed,  and  rest ; for  thou  hast  need. 

[Exeunt  Lady  Capulet  and  Nurse. 
Jul . Farewell ! God  knows  when  we  shall  meet 
again. 

I have  a faint  cold  fear  thrills  through  my  veins, 
That  almost  freezes  up  the  heat  of  life : 

I’ll  call  them  back  again  to  comfort. — 

Nurse  ! — What  should  she  do  here  ? 

Lr'  My  dismal  scene  I needs  must  act  alone. — 

Come,  phial. — 

What  if  this  mixture  do  not  work  at  all  ? 

Must  I of  force  be  married  to  the  county  ?— 

No,  no  ; — this  shall  forbid  it : — lie  thou  there. 

[Laying  down  a dagger. 


64 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


What  if  it  be  poison,  which  the  friar 
Subtly  hath  minister’d  to  have  me  dead  ; 

Lest  in  this  marriage  he  should  be  dishonour’d, 
Because  he  married  me  before  to  Romeo  ? 

I fear  it  is  ; and  yet,  methinks,  it  should  not, 

L For  he  hath  still  been  tried  a holy  man. 

I will  not  entertain  so  bad  a thought. 

How  if,  when  I am  laid  into  the  tomb, 

I wake  .before  the  time  that  Romeo 

Come  to  redeem  me  ? there’s  a fearful  point ! 

O Shall  I not  then  be  stifled  in  the  vault, 

To  whose  foul  mouth  no  healthsome  air  breathes  in, 
And  there  die  strangled  ere  my  Romeo  comes  ? 

Or,  if  I live,  is  it  not  very  like 

The  horrible  conceit  of  death  and  night, 

Together  with  the  terror  of  the  place, — 

As  in  a vault,  an  ancient  receptacle, 

Where,  for  these  many  hundred  years,  the  bones 
Of  all  my  buried  ancestors  are  pack’d  ; 

Where  bloody  Tybalt,  yet  but  green  in  earth, 

Lies  fest’ring  in  his  shroud  : where,  as  they  say, 

At  some  hours  in  the  night  spirits  resort ; — 

Alack,  alack ! is  it  not  like,  that  I, 

So  early  waking, — what  with  loathsome  smells, 

And  shrieks  like  mandrakes  torn  out  of  the  earth, 
That  living  mortals,  hearing  them,  run  mad  ; — 

O ! if  I wake,  shall  I not  be  distraught, 

Environed  with  all  these  hideous  fears  ? 

And  madly  play  with  my  forefathers’  joints  ? 

And  pluck  the  mangled  Tybalt  from  his  shroud  ? 

' ' £>And,  in  his  rage,  with  some  great  kinsman’s  bone. 
As  with  a club,  dash  out  my  desperate  brains  ? 

O,  look  ! methinks  I see  my  cousin’s  ghost 
Seeking  out  Romeo,  that  did  split  his  body 
Upon  a rapier’s  point : — Stay,  Tybalt,  stay  ! — 
Romeo,  I come.  This  do  I drink  to  thee ! 

[She  throws  herself  upon  the  bed. 


ACT  V. 


Scene  i.  The  Pageant  of  Juliet's  Funeral. 
Scene  2.  Mantua.  A Street. 

Enter  Romeo. 

Romeo. 

I may  trust  the  flattering  eye  of  sleep, 
ly  dreams  presage  some  joyful  news  at 
hand ; 

ly  bosom’s  lord  sits  lightly  in  his  throne  ; 
And,  all  this  day,  an  unaccustom’d  spirit; 

Lifts  me  above  the  ground  with  cheerful  thoughts. 

I dreamt  my  lady  came  and  found  me  dead, 

(Strange  dream  ! that  gives  a dead  man  leave  to 
think,) 

And  breathed  such  life  with  kisses  in  my  lips, 

That  I revived  and  was  an  emperor. 

Ah  me  ! how  sweet  is  love  itself  possess’d, 

When  but  love’s  shadows  are  so  rich  in  joy  ! 

Enter  Balthazar. 

News  from  Verona  ! — How  now,  Balthazar  ? 

Dost  thou  not  bring  me  letters  from  the  friar  ? 

How  doth  my  lady  ? Is  my  father  well  ? 

How  fares  my  Juliet  ? That  I ask  again  ; 

For  nothing  can  be  ill  if  she  be  well. 

Bal.  Then  she  is  well,  and  nothing  can  be  ill ; 

E 


66 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Her  body  sleeps  in  Capel’s  monument, 

And  her  immortal  part  with  angels  lives ; 

I saw  her  laid  low  in  her  kindred’s  vault, 

And  presently  took  post  to  tell  it  you  : 

0 pardon  me  for  bringing  these  ill  news, 

Since  you  did  leave  it  for  my  office,  sir  ? 

Rom.  Is  it  even  so  ? then  I defy  you,  stars  ! — 
Thou  know’st  my  lodging : get  me  ink  and  paper, 
And  hire  post-horses  ; I will  hence  to-night. 

Bal.  Pardon  me,  sir,  I will  not  leave  you  thus  : 
Your  looks  are  pale  and  wild,  and  do  import 
Some  misadventure. 

Rom.  Tush,  thou  art  deceived  : 

Leave  me,  and  do  the  thing  I bid  thee  do  : 

Hast  thou  no  letters  to  me  from  the  friar  ? 

Bal.  No,  my  good  lord. 

Rom.  No  matter;  get  thee  gone. 

And  hire  those  horses;  I’ll  be  with  thee  straight. 

[Exit  Balthazar. 

Well,  Juliet,  I will  lie  with  thee  to-night. 

Let’s  see  for  means  : — O,  mischief,  thou  art  swift 
To  enter  in  the  thoughts  of  desperate  men  ! 

1 do  remember  an  apothecary, — 

And  hereabouts  he  dwells, — whom  late  I noted 
In  tatter’d  weeds,  with  overwhelming  brows, 

Culling  of  simples  ; meagre  were  his  looks, 

Sharp  misery  had  worn  him  to  the  bones  ; 

And  in  his  needy  shop  a tortoise  hung, 

An  alligator  stuff’d,  and  other  skins 
Of  ill-shaped  fishes  ; and  about  his  shelves 
A beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes, 

Green  earthen  pots,  bladders,  and  musty  seeds, 
Remnants  of  packthread,  and  old  cakes  of  roses, 
Were  thinly  scatter’d,  to  make  up  a shew 
Noting  this  penury,  to  myself  I said — 

An  if  a man  did  need  a poison  now, 

Whose  sale  is  present  death  in  Mantua, 

Here  lives  a caitiff  wretch  would  sell  it  him. 

O,  this  same  thought  did  but  fore-run  my  need ; 


ACT  V.  SCENE  II. 


6 7 


And  this  same  needy  man  must  sell  it  me. 

As  I remember,  this  should  be  the  house  : 

Being  holyday,  the  beggar’s  shop  is  shut — 

What,  ho ! apothecary ! 

j Enter  Apothecary. 

Ap.  Who  calls  so  loud  ? 

Rom.  Come  hither,  man. — I see  that  thou  art 
poor ; 

Hold,  there  is  forty  ducats  : let  me  have 
A dram  of  poison  : such  soon-speeding  gear 
As  will  disperse  itself  through  all  the  veins, 

That  the  life- weary  taker  may  fall  dead. 

Ap.  Such  mortal  drugs  I have ; but  Mantua’s  law 
Is  death  to  any  he  that  utters  them. 

Rom.  Art  thou  so  bare  and  full  of  wretchedness, 
And  fear’st  to  die  ? Famine  is  in  thy  cheeks, 

Need  and  oppression  starveth  in  thy  eyes, 

Upon  thy  back  hangs  ragged  misery, 

The  world  is  not  thy  friend,  nor  the  world’s  law : 

The  world  affords  no  law  to  make  thee  rich ; 

Then  be  not  poor,  but  break  it,  and  take  this. 

Ap.  My  poverty,  but  not  my  will  consents. 

Rom.  I pay  thy  poverty,  and  not  thy  will. 

Ap.  Put  this  in  any  liquid  thing  you  will, 

And  drink  it  off ; and,  if  you  had  the  strength 
Of  twenty  men,  it  would  despatch  you  straight. 

Rom.  There  is  thy  gold  ; worse  poison  to  men’s 
souls, 

Doing  more  murder  in  this  loathsome  world, 

Than  these  poor  compounds  that  thou  may’st  not 
sell. 

I sell  thee’poison,  thou  hast  sold  me  none. 

Farewell ; buy  food,  and  get  thyself  in  flesh. 

Come, ’cordial, rand  not  poison  ; go  with  me 
To  Juliet’s  grave,  for  there  must  I use  thee. 


[Exeunt. 


68 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Scene  3.  Friar  Laurence’s  Cell. 

Enter  Friar  John. 

John. 

OLY  Franciscan  friar  ! brother,  ho  ! 

Enter  Friar  Laurence. 

Lau.  This  same  should  be  the  voice  of  Friar 
John  — 

Welcome  from  Mantua  : What  says  Romeo  ? 

Or,  if  his  mind  be  writ,  give  me  his  letter. 

John.  Going  to  find  a barefoot  brother  out, 

One  of  our  order,  to  associate  me, 

Here  in  this  city  visiting  the  sick, 

And  finding  him,  the  searchers  of  the  town, 
Suspecting  that  we  both  were  in  a house 
Where  the  infectious  pestilence  did  reign, 

Sealed  up  the  doors,  and  would  not  let  us  forth, 

So  that  my  speed  to  Mantua  there  was  stay’d. 

Lau.  Who  bare  my  letter  then  to  Romeo  ? 

John.  I could  not  send  it, — here  it  is  again, — 

Nor  get  a messenger  to  bring  it  thee, 

So  fearful  were  they  of  infection. 

Lau.  Unhappy  fortune  ! by  my  brotherhood, 

The  letter  was  not  nice,  but  full  of  charge, 

Of  dear  import ; and  the  neglecting  it 
May  do  much  danger  : Friar  John,  go  hence  ; 

Get  me  an  iron  crow,  and  bring  it  straight 
Unto  my  cell. 

John.  Brother,  I’ll  go  and  bring  it  thee.  [Exit. 
Lau.  Now  must  I to  the  monument  alone  ; 

Within  these  three  hours  will  fair  Juliet  wake ; 

She  will  beshrew  me  much  that  Romeo 
Hath  had  no  notice  of  these  accidents  : 

But  I will  write  again  to  Mantua, 

And  keep  her  at  my  cell  till  Romeo  come  ; 

Poor  living  corse,  closed  in  a dead  man’s  tomb  ! 

[Exit. 


ACT  V.  SCENE  IV. 


69 


Scene  4.  A Churchyard ; in  it,  a Monument 
belonging  to  the  Capulets. 

Enter  Paris,  and  his  Page,  bearing  flowers,  and  a torch. 
Paris. 


IVE  me  thy  torch,  boy : Hence,  and  stand 
aloof ; — 

Yet  put  it  out,  for  I would  not  be  seen. 
Under  yon  yew-trees  lay  thee  all  along, 

Holding  thine  ear  close  to  the  hollow  ground  ; 

So  shall  no  foot  upon  the  church-yard  tread, 

(Being  loose,  unfirm,  with  digging  up  of  graves,) 

But  thou  shalt  hear  it ; whistle  then  to  me, 

As  signal  that  thou  hear’st  something  approach. 

Give  me  those  flowers.  Do  as  I bid  thee,  go. 

Page.  I am  almost  afraid  to  stand  alone 
Here  in  the  church-yard;  yet  I will  adventure. 

[Retires. 

Par.  Sweet  flower,  with  flowers  I strew  thy  bridal 
bed : 

The  obsequies  which  I for  thee  will  keep, 

Nightly  shall  be  to  strew  thy  grave  and  weep. 

[The  boy  whistles. 

The  boy  gives  warning,  something  doth  approach. 
What  cursed  foot  wanders  this  way  to-night, 

To  cross  my  obsequies,  and  true  love’s  rites  ? 

What,  with  a torch  ! — muffle  me,  night,  a while. 

[Retires. 


Enter  Romeo  and  Balthazar  with  a torch, 
mattock,  &c. 

Rom.  Give  me  that  mattock,  and  the  wrenching 
iron. 

Hold,  take  this  letter ; early  in  the  morning 
See  thou  deliver  it  to  my  lord  and  father. 

Give  me  the  light : Upon  thy  life,  I charge  thee, 
Whate’er  thou  hear’st  or  see’st,  stand  all  aloof. 

And  do  not  interrupt  me  in  my  course. 


70 


ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


Why  I descend  into  this  bed  of  death, 

Is,  partly,  to  behold  my  lady’s  face  : 

But,  chiefly,  to  take  thence  from  her  dead  finger 
A precious  ring ; a ring,  that  I must  use 
In  dear  employment : therefore  hence,  be  gone  : — 
But  if  thou,  jealous,  dost  return  to  pry 
In  what  I farher  shall  intend  to  do, 

By  Heaven,  I will  tear  thee  joint  by  joint, 

And  strew  this  hungry  churchyard  with  thy  limbs : 
The  time  and  my  intents  are  savage-wild  ; 

More  fierce,  and  more  inexorable  far, 

Than  empty  tigers,  or  the  roaring  sea. 

Bal.  I will  be  gone,  sir,  and  not  trouble  you. 

Rom.  So  shalt  thou  shew  me  friendship. — Take 
thou  that : 

Live,  and  be  prosperous ; and  farewell,  good  fellow. 

Bal.  For  all  this  same,  I’ll  hide  me  hereabout ; 

His  looks  I fear,  and  his  intents  I doubt.  [Retires. 

Rom.  Thou  detestable  maw,  thou  womb  of  death, 
Gorged  with  the  dearest  morsel  of  the  earth, 

Thus  I enforce  thy  rotten  jaws  to  open, 

[Breaking  open  the  door  of  the  monument. 
And,  in  despite,  I’ll  cram  thee  with  more  food ! 

Par.  [Advances.]  Stop  thy  unhallow’d  toil,  vile 
Montague  ; 

Can  vengeance  be  pursued  farther  than  death  ? 
Condemned  villain,  I do  apprehend  thee : 

Obey,  and  go  with  me ; for  thou  must  die. 

Rom.  I must,  indeed,  and  therefore  came  I hither. 
Good  gentle  youth,  tempt  not  a desperate  man. 

Fly  hence  and  leave  me ; — think  upon  these  gone  : 
Let  them  affright  thee. — I beseech  thee,  youth, 

Heap  not  another  sin  upon  my  head, 

By  urging  me  to  fury O,  be  gone  ! 

By  Heaven,  I love  thee  better  than  myself ; 

For  I come  hither  arm’d  against  myself : 

Stay  not,  be  gone  : — live,  and  hereafter  say 
A madman’s  mercy  bade  thee  run  away. 

Par.  I do  defy  thy  conjurations, 

And  do  attach  thee  as  a felon  here. 


ACT  V . SCENE  IV. 


7i 


Rom.  Wilt  thou  provoke  me  ? then  have  at  thee, 
boy.  [They  fight. 

Page.  O lord  ! they  fight : I will  go  call  the  watch. 

[Exit. 

Par.  O,  I am  slain  ! [Falls.]  If  thou  be  merciful, 
Open  the  tomb,  lay  me  with  Juliet.  [Dies. 

Rom.  In  faith  I will : — Let  me  peruse  this  face  : — 
Mercutio’s  kinsman,  noble  county  Paris  ! — 

O,  give  me  thy  hand, 

One  writ  with  me  in  sour  misfortune’s  book ! 

I’ll  bury  thee  in  a triumphant  grave. — 

O,  my  love  ! my  wife  ! 

Death,  that  hath  suck’d  the  honey  of  thy  breath, 
Hath  had  no  power  yet  upon  thy  beauty  : 

Thou  art  not  conquer’d ; beauty’s  ensign  yet 
Is  crimson  in  thy  lips  and  in  thy  cheeks, 

And  death’s  pale  flag  is  not  advanced  there. — 

Ah,  dear  Juliet, 

Why  art  thou  yet  so  fair  ? Shall  I believe 
That  unsubstantial  death  is  amorous  ; 

And  that  the  lean  abhorred  monster  keeps 
Thee  here  in  dark  to  be  his  paramour  ? 

For  fear  of  that,  I will  still  stay  with  thee ; 

And  never  from  this  palace  of  dim  night 

Depart  again.  O,  here 

Will  I set  up  my  everlasting  rest ; 

And  shake  the  yoke  of  inauspicious  stars 
From  this  world-wearied  flesh. — Eyes,  look  your  last! 
Arms,  take  your  last  embrace ! and  lips,  O,  you 
The  doors  of  breath,  seal  with  a righteous  kiss. 
Come,  bitter  conduct,  come,  unsavoury  guide  ! 

Thou  desperate  pilot,  now  at  once  run  on 
The  dashing  rocks  thy  sea-sick  weary  bark ! 

Here’s  to  my  love  ! [Drinks.]  O,  true  apothecary  ! 
Thy  drugs  are  quick. — Thus  with  a kiss  I die.  [Dies. 
Enter , at  the  other  end  of  the  churchyard,  Friar 
Laurence,  with  a lantern,  crow , and  spade. 

Fri.  Saint  Francis  be  my  speed!  how  oft  to-night 
Have  my  old  feet  stumbled  at  graves! — Who’s  there? 

[A  dvances. 


72  ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

Alack,  alack,  what  blood  is  this,  which  stains 
The  stony  entrance  of  this  sepulchre  ? — 

What  mean  these  masterless  and  gory  swords 
To  lie  discolour’d  by  this  place  of  peace  ? 

[Enters  the  monument . 

Romeo  ! O pale  ! — Who  else  ? what,  Paris  too  ? 

And  steep’d  in  blood  ? — Ah,  what  an  unkind  hour 
Is  guilty  of  this  lamentable  chance  ! 

The  lady  stirs.  [Juliet  wakes  and  stirs. 

Jul.  O comfortable  friar,  where  is  my  lord  ? 

I do  remember  well  where  I should  be, 

And  there  I am  : — Where  is  my  Romeo  ? 

[Noise  within. 

Fri.  I hear  some  noise. — Lady,  come  from  that  nest 
Of  death,  contagion,  and  unnatural  sleep  ; 

A greater  power  than  we  can  contradict 
Hath  thwarted  our  intents  ; come,  come  away  : 

Thy  husband  in  thy  bosom  there  lies  dead ; 

And  Paris  too  ; come,  I’ll  dispose  of  thee 
Among  a sisterhood  of  holy  nuns  : 

Stay  not  to  question,  for  the  watch  is  coming. 

Come,  go,  good  Juliet, — [Noise  again.]  I dare  stay 
no  longer.  [Exit. 

Jul.  Go,  get  thee  hence,  for  I will  not  away. — 
What’s  here  ? a cup,  closed  in  my  true  love’s  hand  ? 
Poison,  I see,  hath  been  his  timeless  end  : — 

O churl ! drink  all,  and  leave  no  friendly  drop, 

To  help  me  after? — I will  kiss  thy  lips : 

Haply,  some  poison  yet  doth  hang  on  them, 

To  make  me  die  with  a restorative.  [Kisses  him . 
Thy  lips  are  warm  ? 

i Watch.  [Within.]  Lead,  boy  : — Which  way  ? 

Jul.  Yea,  noise? — then  I’ll  be  brief. — O happy 
dagger  ! [Snatching  Romeo’s  dagger. 

This  is  thy  sheath  ; [Stabs  herself.]  there  rust,  and  let 
me  die.  [Falls  on  Romeo’s  body  and  dies. 

CURTAIN. 


W.  S.  Johnson — “ Nassau  Steam  Press,”  60,  St.  Martin’s  Lane,  W.C. 


